Choice Poems
Reflections of the Self
by Ayatullah Nurjati
As I stand, a poet in an ocean of words,
Unspoken feelings, unheard verses surge.
What is this craft, this calling to write?
Is it light for others or my own plight?
I pen the tales of others, the struggles they bear,
Yet each word I write is a weight I wear.
To live, to serve, to break free from norm,
A poet’s life—a perpetual storm.
......
“Elections” in the Madhouse
by Igor Vykhovanets
A blind spot blooms — and truth decays.
The herd kneels down as darkness plays.
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“Elections” in the Madhouse
......
The choice is mine
by Aldo Kraas
The choice is mine
If I want to continue to be a
Christian
The choice is mine
If I want to keep having
The friends I have
The choice is mine
If I will continue to pray
For my Father
The choice is mine
......
ways
by anais vionet
How did my bf and I spend our early Easter morning? We escorted my Grandmère to mass, of course! And much to my surprise, Catholicism is back baby! The place was packed - and not with the usual elderly and ‘death adjacent,’ but with young Gen-somethings.
“What’s going on, Monsignor Philippe?” I asked the Auxiliary Bishop of Paris, after the show.
“Gen Z’s choosing to shake off p0rm and drugs and revitalize with beauty and discipline.
“And,” he added with a smile, “it’s one of the last places a young man can meet a pretty girl.”
“That’ll bring ‘em in,” I agreed.
On the club scene, some dance clubs have adopted color-coded security consent-bracelets - you pick them up at the door. It’s a stoplight-style setup:
A Green bracelet signals you’re open to being asked or flirted with.
A Yellow bracelet says, ‘approach with caution - feeling things out’
......
If I Stay
by Raina Hutchins
If I stay will you hold me
And comfort me through my tears
If I go will you miss me
And live with regret through the years
If I stay will you kiss me
With the passion you used to show
If I go will you let me
Be someone you used to know
......
ways
by anais vionet
How did my bf and I spend our early Easter morning? We escorted my Grandmère to mass, of course! And much to my surprise, Catholicism is back baby! The place was packed - and not with the usual elderly and ‘death adjacent,’ but with young Gen-somethings.
“What’s going on, Monsignor Philippe?” I asked the Auxiliary Bishop of Paris, after the show.
“Gen Z’s choosing to shake off p0rm and drugs and revitalize with beauty and discipline.
“And,” he added with a smile, “it’s one of the last places a young man can meet a pretty girl.”
“That’ll bring ‘em in,” I agreed.
On the club scene, some dance clubs have adopted color-coded security consent-bracelets - you pick them up at the door. It’s a stoplight-style setup:
A Green bracelet signals you’re open to being asked or flirted with.
A Yellow bracelet says, ‘approach with caution - feeling things out’
......
Hornbills in the Tower
by Sapper Morton
There is always a choice.
A singular moment,
shrouded in the fog of mystery and the sharp hum of excitement.
It poses itself as a question: Should you? Can you?
This echoing Why?
You trace the sequined patterns of memories long discarded,
while your skin burns with the friction of moments shortly withdrawn.
Through the purple haze of joy and the grit of misery,
rose-colored glasses make a past forlorn seem kinder than a today squandered.
But the birds in the bush shudder at the stones in your hand.
......
“Elections” in the Madhouse
by Igor Vykhovanets
A blind spot blooms — and truth decays.
The herd kneels down as darkness plays.
-------------------------
“Elections” in the Madhouse
......
Platitudes
by Darris van-Hoxen
Stand in your ashes,
preach so "pure" with
ever blood-soaked kale,
claiming moral high.
Was never up to thee,
your leaflet audacity—
save the cows, starve the kids?
All true loads, hypocrisy.
......
Reflections of the Self
by Ayatullah Nurjati
As I stand, a poet in an ocean of words,
Unspoken feelings, unheard verses surge.
What is this craft, this calling to write?
Is it light for others or my own plight?
I pen the tales of others, the struggles they bear,
Yet each word I write is a weight I wear.
To live, to serve, to break free from norm,
A poet’s life—a perpetual storm.
......
