Poetry competition CLOSED 1st February 2023 1:52am
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A Question, a Quandary, Or a Riddle

poet Anonymous

An Ocean of Time

  
I don’t know if I should start crying now
Preparing myself for the inevitable…
   
A kaleidoscope of memories entwining  
Passing through every neuron firing  
Converging  
Like every drop of water in the ocean  
And with each passing day    
They become more precious  
   
My heart beats heavy whenever I hold her hands  
Those soft hands that endured hard times  
Each wrinkle is like a ring from a tree  
Sturdy and beautiful  
Showing her strength and resilience  
   
Her recollections are getting a little distant  
But her smiles warm my heart  
   
I don’t know what time is given to us  
But at nearly 93  
I make sure to spend more time with her  
   
I understand it’s the life cycle    
We all have to go through it  
We all have to accept it  
We all have to…  
   
I kiss her forehead  
Those beautiful greys  
Her small frail frame  
Her voice that even in foreign language sounds more angelic  
When I say “Jefita, I love you”  
And she replies “I love you too”  
With everlasting hugs  
   
I fear the day  
I fear the pain  
I question my faith and my sanity  
I dare not speak it or put it out into the universe  
I don’t know how much time  
   
How do I prepare?  
What can I do to cope?  
Do I let myself feel the pain ahead?    
These are the days I spend remembering    
Wishing I could’ve been better grandchild  
   
So I just hold those soft hands  
Because I love listening to her stories  
Again and again  
   
I hear that the last second is not really a second  
But an ocean of time  
One where memories of a lifetime are re-lived  
And that one second  
Stretches forever
poet Anonymous

the coward

 
     
     
     
   
in the
heat of
the moment
I felt I was
benumbed
   
and wanted
to scream
your name
     
because
till I opened    
my eyes
all I could
see was
     
you...
   
 
 
 
 
 
and it's
not right
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
am I
a coward
for not
choosing
chaos?
 
..truth?
 
 
...love?
 
     
     
     
     
 
poet Anonymous

Bull Fighting

Who would wean a walrus cub
or crack a pup seal with a club.

Who would walk a rescued stray
or gamble which dog dies today.

Who would scrub small Indian ears
or pull out tusks for souvenirs.

Who would climb to see them rut
or crosshair sights inside a hut.

Who could drag a scented trail
or let the hounds rip head to tail.

Who would farm and let bulls be
or caustic burns around each knee.
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