(a throwback poem from High school)

I'm the most popular girl in my homeroom.
Of course, that's my own bedroom -
cause we're on COVID lockdown, zoom.

My bedroom is the math class, which doubles as the gym,
it triples as the theater - you should see the shows I'm in.

They're only in my mirror, so my cats get free admission.
My sudden popularity's due, to a matter of attrition.

If I play my cards right, I can probably be prom queen
I'll hold the ceremony in the garden, so the travesty goes unseen.

Writing is my lighthouse when
I'm lost at sea in the
dark fog
among the sirens singing their
seductive songs.
It is my net
that catches fish to feed
me when I'm starving and afraid.
An albatross silently looms, while
waves swell and break against my
raft.

The kraken yawns and waits,
but the words and lines tow
me safely to shore.

Type: Restoration / Temporal Rewrite Effect:
Heals allies or rewrites a failed moment with poetic resonance.

Verse Begins:

Ash don’t mean end, it means start.
I speak from the scorch, not the scar.
You fell?
                     I rise.
You broke?
                     I bind.
Time ain’t linear, it’s lined.

Feather to flesh, ink to bone,
I cast from the place you felt alone.
Phoenix don't ask why you burned;
it just knows how to return.

So breathe. Let the flame fold back.
Let the moment crack, then track.
I stitch the slip, I mend the miss,
with rhythm, myth, and fire-kissed bliss.

Verse Ends.

by Geof the cheeky breakfast bard

I tossed some thoughts into the blend
A cup of hope, a half-wilted friend.
Banana peel of bygone days,
And berries bruised by wistful haze.

Almond milk of maybe-so,
A mango flash of long ago.
One dash of “should’ve,” chilled regret,
A swirl of dreams not done just yet.

I stirred it once with quiet grace,
Poured in a smile, pulp to face.
Some leafy truths, still bold and green,
From tangled vines of might-have-been.

Then irony, that spry old spice,
Snuck in with “wisdom's” thin advice
“Regret's a flavour for the brave,
Served best in chalice we misgave.”

I shaved some ginger, sharp, sincere
To cleanse the gut of latent fear.
And as the final blend grew thick,
I sipped, then sighed, “That did the trick.”

With half the world ablaze
And the other half under water
                 I gaze at a beautiful sunset
                 And wonder why I am so lucky.

With half of the world now starving
And the other half made newly homeless
                 I sit in my comfy two-story
                 And wonder why I should deserve it.

With half the world hating each other
And the other half crying for peace
                 I sit with my pen and blank paper
                 Hoping somehow to fix it with verse.

I’ll write for the fires to burn themselves out.
I’ll write for the floods to abate.
                I’ll write for the hungry a banquet.
                Write refugees a new home.

I must write an end to the hatred.
  I must write a way to find peace.
   I must write to solve all the problems
    That bleed endless ink to my pen.

It wants to compose lines of beauty
  Not pity for those so abused.
    It wants to paint scenes of agreement
      Outlining tallies of evil.

It wants to share themes that enrich us
  Written in Poetry’s creative blood.
    Will this moment arrive in my lifetime -
      My subscription to miracles sadly expired
                    ljm

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
Dispatches for the Colonial Office


                                Point-and-Won’t-Shoot Camera

The concept of the point-and-shoot camera obtains
But a Me-‘Phone camera doesn’t see it that way
I stopped to watch a bug-grazing bird
Who approached me as if she wanted to visit

I took out my Me-‘Phone for a photograph
And it didn’t recognize my handsome face
And I had to tap a four-digit code
And the bird grew suspicious and flew away

O Egret, in your beautiful brown and white -
I truly understand your need for flight

She went to be bed with her makeup on  
Feeling like *****…..
Reflecting in her bathrobe…about the night before,
Hell you know she asked for it!
What will the neighbors think?
Still half asleep and hung over,
Her cheeks are still pink,
And he… was never there,
And never was before,
She turns off the monitor….just one hit more,
She washes her face,
Still smiling,
Nothing said…
Wipes off with a towel,  
And then goes back to bed.
BLCostello©2025