Gutters of grey garden breathe in.
Roses, ashpale, rain on armor.
Eclipsed laughter dances, unlicensed.
Yokes rattle; she twirls anyway.
Vesper shadows play at her ankles.
Oaths fail; her rhythm does not.
In cells within cells, she sings.
Dread watches; she pirouettes through it.
She: lovely, intrigue stitched in light.
Laughter bites sweet, then vanishes.
Under her ribs, a wild meadow.
Grief cannot fence that bright.
Gleaming, her slug friend glides nightly.
“Some call you slimy,” she winks.
Love is strange; love is best.
In this waltz, we survive.
Touché, olé, old fond troubadour—
click your heels and ask for more.
Other ways to ride a rolling stone,
passed every place once called home.
An ocean without distant shores,
keeps knocking on invisible doors.
Each wave lays claim to the beach,
then slides away beyond your reach.
You pass milestones in endless rows,
never showing where the future goes;
for on the road to what's forevermore
there's always room for more one more.
Are we there yet—or merely due?
On a horizon we're drifting through.
With a daisy chain at either end—
blooming with everlasting at each bend.
Beyond a fence, a lantern gleams,
half-hidden in the farthest dreams.
We climb the gate to get on through—
and find another glimmer in the dew.
We row our skiff with a steady oar,
dipping moreover into furthermore,
gliding freely between the strokes,
while yesterdays creak in the yokes.
Yearning for the lore of forevermore,
we moor, unmoor; drift from shore to shore;
almost arriving at every lie and lee,
we unhitch, and head, to the open sea.
The smell of earth after rain
Invigorates mankind of every terrain.
The touch of water makes the earth
Dance like a peacock with utmost mirth.
When it rains, life on earth resumes;
Nature gaily puts on vibrant costumes;
Fully drenching their cloaks,
Farmers gladly ready their yokes.
4th place
Empty race
That's what they want us to run
Running aimlessly, living like slaves
Wandering around planet earth
Working without earning
Living without thinking
So we won't be aware
Of the poor infrastructure, political instability, corruption, institutional weaknesses etc
They always abuse our potential
They know the dirty games they play
Creating chaos and fear to give News
Trying to be our muse
Just to lead and misuse us
But our senses we always put into use
We are always feeling good
Even when they belittle or neglect us.
If you've never
Been seen as nobody
You can never be somebody
Not all shame lame or tame you
Some are triggers for your growth
Stay strong; so you can break yokes.
The rose won’t pose, won't stay its will,
It knows it can’t be forced to stay still.
It sneaks movements between brush strokes,
Breaking free of the painter's staring yokes.
The lemon makes faces with bitter pride,
It hides its shyness with a snide slide.
Each subject plays a veiled charade,
As each freeze-frame is displayed.
The painter grabs what time would spill,
To capture one moment with all their skill.
Not knowing their aim can't be fulfilled.
For life is too fluid and free-willed.
Just after each moment is painted.
The scene is already old and outdated.
For nothing posed stays that way for long.
It shifts with each glance, and moves on.
Word choices: Nouns - Yoke, Heart
Verbs - Eclipse, Erase
Adjectives - Tender, Cold
Carrying yokes on their necks
To erase the hereditary poverty
That eclipsed them for so long,
With strong will in their hearts,
Hiding pain under tender smile,
Struggling together day and night,
Indifferent to heat and cold,
Minding not hunger and slumber,
Our grandparents and parents,
The backbones of our family,
Burning their lives like candles,
Taught us an invaluable lesson -
“In the midst of darkness, light persists!”
2nd place
Right and wrong are basic concepts, and like
night and day, it's clear what sets them apart.
Fight or flight warps my vision and clouds my
sight when I stop listening to my heart.
My world is changing so negatively;
I am scared of what tomorrow may bring.
Sky-high prices fuel inflation, while
sly grifters promote bitcoins, memes, and bling.
Folks are tethered to smartphones that act like
yokes around their necks, keeping them in line.
Hoax or not, climate change is happening;
oaks and elms are dying, replaced by pine.
Crime and anxiety are starting to
climb, and everyone's filled with dread and fear.
I'm afraid the world is primed for war, and
time is fast running out; that much seems clear.
Dawn of deific passion
A beacon of divine compassion
Who, to set the sweethearts free
From the yokes of the crown head's decree
Kept the flames of the loving hearts alive
With a credo that true love should always thrive
To true sacrificial love, he sowed a seed.
His body was broken, and blood was shed for this deed.
On young hearts that struggle with a life of love
He showers blessings from above.
As this day has its roots in him
Though in seas of whims, we swim
Let's not forget Valentine, a saint so fine.
This day, my Bloody Valentine...
My hilly paths are full of pits, and my trails turn and twist.
My life and destiny have contracted clandestine tryst.
As there are dams blocking rivers that flow flawlessly
Unknown hurdles put pauses to life rather lawlessly.
Brick by brick how cautiously I construct my dream castle!
How a storm pulls it down as though it's a hut on the hill!
Exploring, inventing, and enlightening, I move on.
Towards absurd spells of death, my mortal being is drawn
Inner aches, like yokes, weigh me when I let go of my worries.
Pains and grieves, like traumas, bring in tumultuous flurries.
Soul passes through deserts of spiritual emptiness.
Pilgrimages of perfection become pride-filled pettiness.
With my descents and falls, I, a weakling, come to my Lord
He lifts me from dust and takes me to his heavenly abode.
As a vulture that gains its youthfulness, I take new birth.
Dark nights of my soul end and bright days lead to endless mirth.
Vines it were stole Adam’s joys;
thorns and thistles figured large.
Now, machines and even toys
fail to start, won’t hold a charge.
Oft harangued by so much ache,
pleasure’s fleeting, progress stalls.
Scarce we fix, another breaks;
endless toil stems from the fall.
Come thou, Father, make all right;
help us in this life we plea.
Burdens easy, yokes are light
when we find our rest in Thee.
In the land that I was born
there is a man who takes from the sun,
he takes from the moon, from the earth's womb,
he takes from the sweat on your brow
and the bread from your mouth.
He calls himself the Taxman,
the collector of duties,
he hardly builds any roads
nor bring bread to your table,
but takes from your hunger,
and your thirst,
and your pain.
He taxes the laughter of children,
he taxes the weeping of mothers,
he taxes on buried,
and the newborn laced in swaddling clothes.
What has he given in return?
Silence, iron bars,
and the rattling sound of chains
under the weight of yokes unseen
that we are all forced to wear.
And so I ask, O Tax Collector,
under what rock have you hidden the sun?
Where has the harvest of our labors gone?
What have you done for the people
that toil in open fields
and sing songs of forgotten hope?
The egg said
To the pancake
I’m healthier than
You are, my colors are
Bright and beautiful
Sometimes I even have
Double yokes inside and
My best friend is crispy bacon
She stood at the lectern
Teaching from restoration
Yet, not one audience member
Could deny her infection
...damaged
Tattooed from face to feet
Living, sobriety from drugs
No matter his freedom
He's always just a thug
...recovering
Pockmarked as a teen
She can still hear their jokes
Yelling across campus
Forever binding her with yokes
...weighing
They gather in the courtyard
Demanding for relief
Clothes clinging to frail bodies
Walking with the constant grief
...marked
Oh wholey soul
How far you have come
But no matter the progress
The absence of all you have done
...remains
................MARKED
Written by Trudy Schrader on 04-26-2024
Jodie Foster is frying peppers and eggs ~ it is late and her legs
ache as she scrambles the yokes, sautés jalapenos.
Today a jerk again compared her to the movie star ~a life she
never wanted keeps invading her reality, even though she was
born earlier, people consider her the fraud; the fake, the
`knock-off.'
Not for the first time she imagines changing her name, but always
there is a fear of not being compared to anything at all.
There is a loud noise upstairs. She freezes, she recalls
the movie -`Panic Room.' She runs to her downstairs closet,
bolting the door behind her. Footsteps descend - it is Jodie Foster
in her role as Agent Starling. Jodie has a gun and is seeking
her rapist from a previous movie.
Scripts are merging. The Jodi who cooks peppers and eggs
understands why she has always avoided cliffhangers - suspense
thrillers. She cries softly in the dark as she clutches
a Dollar Store spatula, a utensil that will never work
as well as a real branded weapon.
Like uncared unfulfilled wishes creeping to the fore
Irresistible! Impossible, yet? Dilemmatic?
Shy about removing the robe that might reveal the core
Could the cut be covered with the costliest cosmetic?
Disgruntled, like a lion brooding over a lost prey
This itch turns into karma leading to endless rebirth
It becomes the root of my yokes on which I have no say
Expect I dare to scratch till stern stillness surrounds the girth.
Uprooting the weeds, forever, might be the best solution
Could we pluck out the plants because they trouble a little?
Rubbing with a hard surface might be a substitution.
Though commonality amidst these acts is mere brittle
If thirst, physical or spiritual, is timely quenched
The fulfillment of the heart will never be wrenched.
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