Unlike a Spurgeon, I by dull words unfold
The limits of my Sarah's love for me,
But I realize that the rot and stink and mold
Are all within my mind, beneath my See.
There is no other person who can love
For me. It is my duty and my joy.
It is the Truth that True Love is made of
It is the difference of man from a boy.
I am no counter of the counterfeits
That weigh love by the dram of sweet words said,
But rather, I am one who from above
Receives the gifts whereby he bakes his bread.
Into the practical and humble things
I'll pour my Constancy and give love wings.
there’s something dreary
about a terrasse drenched in rain
can’t help but take it personally
like a missed invitation
to an afternoon drink with friends
or a cancelled party
a dull hush lacks warmth
too early or too late
no one at the rendez-vous
no welcoming sunshine
stood up by the host
a final rinse
the rain lets up
the earth on pause
before the sun breaks through
and sets everything on cue
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
comets dust debris
no atmosphere crater face~
makes for a dull m
o o
n
show us your brightside
spare us farsided blackness~
thyne kind o
r
b i t
r
e
s s
Bleak, Bitter ! Now dragging dull days.
Too long Past and too short Future
At present, in senile decay.
Does not matter, rue or rapture.
No dynamism., life stagnant,
Bleak, Bitter ! Now dragging dull days.
Forgotten when progress was vibrant.
All around dark, no shiny rays.
Life has no charm, lustre and glaze
Nothing to expect , nothing to gain.
Bleak, Bitter ! Now dragging dull days
Only spending time in vain.
Awaiting for last bell to ring
Yet for rest of life, wish to pray
Dynamism again to bring !
Bleak, Bitter ! Now dragging dull days.
my neighbour was a simple woman
quiet and modest in all ways
she led the kind of life
that most would never envy
from nine to five she'd pay her dues
but then on weekends would come to life
she'd get dolled up and put on heels
and turn into a real live beauty queen
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
Does it matter what you do
or matter what you say?
Does anything mean anything
when you live Groundhog Day?
Is there a way to please the Gods
so that they’ll let you go?
Or maybe there’s no point at all.
Perhaps it’s just a show.
But what else can you do
if you find you’re stuck in this scene.
You have to just keep going
and hope you will find the thing
that they are wanting you to learn.
You have to find a way
to end the drama, check the box…
and escape Groundhog Day.
In a city where dreams intertwine with the shadows of dull days,
society turns away from those who dare to dream,
as if they were committing a crime against the silent laws of time,
because their dream is a flame that disturbs the gray tranquility of the city.
We are all travelers on a sea of memories that slowly fade,
but some carry stars in their eyes and desires that cannot be extinguished,
and these cannot be forgiven, for their dreams are silent rebellions,
an explosion of color defying monotony and gray sadness.
Perhaps society embraces those who steal moments,
those who trap light in cages of concrete and sell it in pieces,
but it will not understand the one who carries their soul like a living canvas,
where each dream is a splash of color, a cry against routine.
Ah, traveler of dreams, wear your burden like a mantle of light,
for the world does not know how to forgive those who look at the sky with longing,
and find in it an infinity of possibilities that cannot be contained,
while the earth murmurs its secrets beneath the hurried footsteps.
a blemished sky
smears greys to blurs
winter lingering
AP: 1st place 2025
Submitted on February 23, 2025 to contest 'A FEBRUARY 2025 POSTED' sponsored by BRIAN STRAND - RANKED 10TH
sacrificed on the name of joke
became laughing stock of the group
my friends reflection in the mirror
appears rather dull than bright
rust entered in the open wounds
scars that cover my whole body
friend is a word to use with care
growing ivy does not make them rose
( A Definition )
Having a small European resembling a brown back.
Having hammy old-world songs related to a large ‘NO!’
Having no American thrust; (the upper part).
An olivatious, blackish, whitish, streaked glommed throat.
Chiefly dull; (the under parts). Drippy-
Dull as water, Round seed,
Edible nuts.
_________________
deviantART R.W. © 04/18/01
Billions of stars,
But I choose the Sun.
Ignoring all the noises
And all the pollution.
I'll live with him,
As long as, he's mine.
Even if he's not,
I'll stay with him,
As long as, he's alive.
(On his eyelashes, on the cut
On his earlobe, in the tears and
The smile and on the fingers which
crossed mine).
He lightens my life,
Brightens the soul.
But darkens the world,
When sets off
Then why do you adore the moon
In the dark?
It's just a epitome for me
That my Sun is apart.
So you take the moon
And I take the Sun.
'Cuz it's always him in the
Light or dull.
In the core of my heart,
I see myself walking with him.
With his radiance in gold fields.
No stars, Just Him.
Now it's the beginning of
Our beautiful "The End".
With stars all over but
No noise, no pollution.
Standing as bright as ever.
Flashing on us as their,
"Main characters".
Me and Sun,
The perpetual togetherness.
So,
You take the moon
And I take the Sun
'Cuz it's always him in the
Light or dull~
Considering the finale
Piloting my survival.
Anxious thoughts prevent deadly decisions
But these decisions have made themselves well-situated.
Still, prayers haven’t been answered
So I search and seek
Until I become conscious of where I am.
Idleness is my safest abode
I crave it when I leave it
And forget it when I drown in it.
No thoughts roam here
And the troubles do not keep me chained.
But I am without knowledge of the world
then can I feel safe in my humble, ignorant abode of nothing.
This isn't the golden mean
But the grey middle ground
That only darkens when dipped to either side.
It is not death that I seek
For death enters a void I cannot know
But the detachment from reality
and into the dungeons of the unknown.
If we want a friend with whom
we'll never grow bored
The best one to recommend
is Jesus our Lord
Although some experiences
may hit a lull
The more we get to know Him
the less He seems dull
The closer we get
the more Beauty discovered
The more silence we share
the more is His Love heard
Till we get involved
we tend to ignore history
So open the Bible
and enter the Mystery
Can we imagine being there
where Jesus walked?
What would we say to Him
when He found us, and talked?
Which characters can we see
ourselves in their shoes
We've got so much to gain
and not too much to lose
It's hard to visualize
the Cross-- it's so gory
We hurt our Best Friend :(
but there's more to His Story
Our souls have a canvas
with more room for painting
Neverending Mercy
--ongoing Aquainting
[Inspired to write this when I read Chapter 5 in:
"What We Believe: The Beauty of the Catholic Faith"
by Marcellino D'Ambrosio and Andrew Swafford]
some bright sequins of fun shined amidst dull threads of routines... art time none
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