I don’t want money!
How many times do I have to say it?
I know my verses will lead to nothing
But at least I’m whole
Isn’t that what we needed?
A purpose
I’ve found mine: writing cheap poetry
that only sells to crazy hearts longing to understand
Understand what?
I have no idea
I only know that art is this—being ecstatic
Not trapped in some rule because someone said so
Do it differently
Put that dot outside the curve and
Tada! Art!
Only there does the magic make sense
Sorry, babe, you tried so hard to make me rich
But I found my wealth elsewhere
I know, you’ll tell me that money can’t buy happiness
But it can buy many other things
Still, without it
I found peace

Not the others
To hell with the others
I want the courage and bravery
of those who said “**** it”
and went to live
I want to live
“Please, let me live,” my soul screams
And I think the most painful part
is realizing it’s all up to me

Step out of the night
and wipe out the sorrow
this day's your tomorrow
that starts with new light

Stand firm on your feet
and feel how you're growing
the moment you're knowing
recovery's sweet

Today is the day
to smile and feel healthy
incredibly wealthy
that all is okay

Eelco van der Waals
11 August 2025

The heart you show, a steady flame,
In every trial, win, or game.
You do not boast nor seek the light,
But stand for what is true and right.
A quiet strength that sees you through,
For this, my deep esteem is due.

The words you speak, a binding pact,
A promise made, a constant fact.
Your honest gaze, a mirror clear,
That casts away all doubt and fear.
You never waver in your stand,
A trusted pillar in the land.

You lend a hand, though none would ask,
And shoulder many a heavy task.
You lift the fallen, mend the torn,
And greet with kindness every morn.
A giving spirit, strong and true,
A profound honor is for you.

You listen close with open ears,
And calm a hundred hidden fears.
You weigh each thought, each voice you hear,
And keep a mind that's sharp and clear.
With open heart and wisdom deep,
The faith you've earned, you truly keep.

The path you walk, with careful pace,
Reflects a dignity and grace.
You do not rush, nor cut a line,
Your every step is a clear design.
Your patient soul, a gentle guide,
In whom all confidence can hide.

You faced the storm and did not break,
For higher principles and sake.
The easy way you cast aside,
With inner fortitude inside.
This firmness of a noble will,
Commands a reverence, standing still.

You treat each soul with equal care,
Beyond what they may own or wear.
You see the worth in every face,
And give to all a rightful place.
This fairness, shown in all you do,
Inspires a deep regard for you.

You own your faults when you are wrong,
And learn the lesson, making strong.
You do not hide behind a lie,
But meet the truth with an open eye.
This humble spirit, taught and learned,
A special veneration earned.

You build up others, help them grow,
And watch their inner spirits glow.
You do not crush, nor tear them down,
To wear a false and shallow crown.
Your selfless heart, a guiding star,
That's why you're held in such high regard.

So when I speak of honor's creed,
I think of you, your every deed.
A life of purpose, lived with grace,
A special person in this place.
For all these things, so good and right,
You have my full respect and might.

The final words are here, now told,
A story is more than fine than gold.
For all the grace within your soul,
That made my weary spirit whole.
I now offer a final plea,
That you extend the hands of grace
To others, as you did for me.
Much love and respect. ©

Michael Powers
"STYX ON FIRE"

Like stepping into rooms that are almost, not quite formed, inhabited by blind guides. Enthusiastic sages, whose mouths drip with the oozing compost of yesteryear’s salvation. I’ve seen this one before, this party is the same as the last. The sigh that slips out is like so many lungs full, from a balloon released from a child’s clumsy fingers.

I look back for friends, praying to step through the threshold accompanied. Who likes to show up standing with the host, making small talk with the gal holding the shrimp tray, trying not to let the eyes linger where they shouldn’t. But the air is slipping out of the front door, threatening to change the world outside. It’s not like there was a choice, move forward, or step back. One last glance, behind the hedgerow, beyond the gate, the clamor already complains.

The air is penetrating still until lilting melodies, crack open each room like canned joy, preserving the freshness of someone else’s moments. Sharp laughter of someone hunting for their self-esteem pierces the stochastic void, reminds me of the last time I cried. The sound waves carry reluctant feet down dark halls lined with the regrets of paths not taken, painted over with grim smiles. Reminders that the future is already littered with the corpses of good intentions.

The hall ends in an ornate door, carved by hand with sigils and runes, marked, ‘remember’. I want to, because surely what has been is not all that there could have been. I step up, alone as on the last day. Praying that ahead there is a miracle that rescues from certainty, and it’s like a voice on the other side whispers “this is it,” but when I turn the handle, it’s just another room. One more closet full of the artifacts accumulated in the pursuit of meaning.