Where is it we are heading
If not where we began,
But when we arrive
There is now a difference.
Hamsters on their wheel
Are always striving and always arriving
Since clearly the journey is the goal.
And yet there must be some goal
Held in sight, some vision to pull us
As we run round and round
Otherwise we would simply stop,
And, if truly a hamster,
Eat some of the roses.
(9/18/25)
Poem 3
Illusion of Practical Thinking
Some fake intellectuals are mocking books by saying that books won't help practical life,
But on the other hand they're decreasing their brain's capacity by social media,
Practical Thinking is not bad but it's an illusion that social media and video games create practical Thinking,
On the reverse they blunt the sharpness of brain,
And make our lives worst,
Those who don't believe can compare their brain's efficiency after reading books and after scrolling social media themselves.
Poem 3
Illusion of Practical Thinking
Some fake intellectuals are mocking books by saying that books won't help practical life,
But on the other hand they're decreasing their brain's capacity by social media,
Practical Thinking is not bad but it's an illusion that social media and video games create practical Thinking,
On the reverse they blunt the sharpness of brain,
And make our lives worst,
Those who don't believe can compare their brain's efficiency after reading books and after scrolling social media themselves.
Caught in illusion or delusion
you have a bag full of excuses
~ tell me, what’s your game?
Wordku: 5-7-5 words
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
CHANDELIER PRINCESS
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
She smiles, for she is the Chandelier Princess;
A young queen sitting on an ivory throne
with her golden crown glittering when light falls upon it.
She smiles, for she is a fair lady;
wears dress of ruffles and exquisite satin,
Her cinnamon hair neatly fashioned in a meticulous bun.
She smiles, upon her throne; yet, I see utopian-like happiness;
a symbol of her hidden pangs,
which bitter autumn brought upon the bud of her heart.
She smiles; yet, I see tales concealed suffering and pain;
a ribbon of her ever-flowing tears,
that her mind transfers to her soul.
She smiles; yet, her silent screams can't be hidden
not even from her being - where emotions flow,
nagging her thoughts roaring like thunder.
She smiles yet finds no solace
in the mask covering her real face
veiling where her true self lies.
She smiles yet dies gradually in silence;
her pain feeds her shame,
crying silent tears for imperfections, disguised with lies.
She long lives these feelings,
letting them drain the life out of her.
I beg you, Chandelier Princess, remove thy shield, thy mask!
Your true self awaits.
Tipsy when under the influence
world closes in for a private party
~ the illusion of escape brief
Wordku: 5-7-5 words
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
Time is an illusion
That only creates confusion
Because what has begun
Is already done
What came before
Is remembered no more
And will be mistaken
As a new creation
The judgement of what matters
In time that is shattered
Is not how time is used
But by what has been pursued
Sometimes it becomes painfully obvious
love is but a silly childish fantasy
~ we must redefine the dream
Wordku: 5-7-5 words
AP: 3rd place 2025
I walk a rope that hangs in air,
It moves with rules I do not see.
Each step I take feels watched, not free,
And I forget who I used to be.
The rope is soft yet too tight and pulls me back,
Like Kind Hands hiding quiet chains.
It bends around but doesn’t break,
And leads me through the same old lanes.
I feel the pull from sides unknown,
Not just by you, or even me.
Some hands I never see or name
Still change the shape beneath my feet.
I walk like water in a glass,
Shaking with fear I cannot speak.
If I fall, is that called freedom?
Or just another circle made?
The rope still turns but never ends,
And still I walk though truth is blurred.
Still I walk, though the knot is hidden,
And the wind keeps shaking, blurring what I see.
The fakification of modern life
Is almost complete
As AI and disinformation
Crowd out the real and true.
If you didn’t see and do it
How can you even trust
It ever happened
Or at least how they say.
Like the old Emperor and his new robes
But in reverse
Now it’s the old calling out the lies
While the young just accept the illusion.
To the young the blurred lines will just be
What has always been
The nature of a social construct
Always in process, always under review.
What is the difference between man and woman,
Or right or wrong
Left and Right?
Whatever you want it to be.
(8/3/25)
Truth be told, or is it so,
Is strength bronze or tin?
Forever mystery lies so,
In this transcended kin.
Beneath the rust, a fragile heart,
Iron weeps, its strength apart.
A veil of secrets, shadows loom,
Where truth’s enigma finds its tomb.
In fragile echoes, whispers call,
Uncertainty befalls, thoughts of chanciness.
As ready minds begin to fall,
A second thought of unsureness.
Though some say it's peaceful,
A chilling draft, shadows impenetrable.
The touch, cold & luridful,
As if metal guards what’s unfalsifiable.
A muffled sound, a mournful hum,
As secrets whisper, what is keen.
For a darkened blanket casted,
Obscuring truth, a world unseen.
The taste bitter, how obscene,
Obscene in taste, even in earful mean.
Charisma of a champion
Strength of a Mount Olympus deity
Superstar hero larger than life
A fanclub like no other
A base of faithful devotees
buying into the showman's dream
the illusion
the fantasy
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
Its elasticity is in fact a mystery ~
while time is free to flee as quick as lightning
sometimes it drags on for lengths of eternity.
And for all our hankering and longing
that time would move according to our wishes,
it's never anything but a fool's machination.
While youth is just a memory away ~
the magician waves his wand, and
without a trace into thin air, poof!
the decades swiftly vanish.
AP: 1st place 2025
The illusion
In a small park ringed by gloomy trees near where the factories used to be, was the bust of a man on a splint
made of bronze, a mesen, she liked to use words like
that in a desperate world of poverty, tinned sardines
in olive oil and mackerel in tomato sauce
The Mesen who owned the factories had created this
park for his workers, where they could sit and relax on Saturday afternoons.
The whole day on Sundays, otherwise the park shuts
during weekdays; that made sense, one could not have workers there on days of work
A boy climbed the fence and drowned in a dam of algae
The park, among damp factory walls, was eradicated.
The foul-smelling factories disappeared as well; the time
had changed, people could buy cheaper tinned stuff from Portugal
When pockets of oil deep under the North Sea
A country was suddenly rich, and people built modern housing where the factories stood.
No one in a town like ours talks about the good old days.
I hear again and again, of people searching for what is real,
Looking for the answers that they seek is like climbing up a hill.
Their truth and their authentic self, they seldom if ever will find,
If all they do is listen to others and never use their mind.
Based on the things I’ve seen and heard; this is my simple conclusion.
The things we observe with our physical eyes are the illusion.
The answers to all the questions we have are safely hid inside.
Thoughts that are both eternal and true always within us abide.
Each of us must follow our heart and our path we will discover,
Listen within to the voice of our soul, clues we will uncover.
Step by step, the path we will follow, trusting it is the right way.
We’ll live in the present, learn the lessons provided every day.
Related Poems