There are voices from the closet,
as I lie upon my bed.
I try to shut them out,
but they get inside my head.

They tell tales of insurrection,
having gone against the grain.
Never paying heed,
to the ones that I caused pain.

Selfish and a fool, for sure
I led a life of fun,
not ever caring much about,
the things I'd left undone.

Ashamed of wasted years,
I've stored them all away.
Yet tonight, they speak to me
of pleasures gathered yesterday.

convalescences in sickbay
from irritable bowel syndrome,
the Flip (Wilson) side of constipation,
a disorder of the lower gastrointestinal (GI) tract,
which includes the small intestine
and large intestine (colon)
essentially a problem
with how the intestines function,
causing symptoms like abdominal cramping,
bloating, and changes in bowel habits.

Imagine what could happen,
in twenty-four hours?
The powers that be
might kick you out on the street!

The administrator came in,
left a sign on the wall,
but would not say
a damn thing!

Your best friends,
and family, if you have any,
will not do anything
to help.

Tomorrow will
come and go.
You'll face the same
turmoil within.

You owe your place of residence
18,000 dollars,
which you simply
cannot pay back!

Mountains are the middle kingdom
Ossified rock and petrified stone
Unblemished by centuries of rain.
Not dead like the desert or arctic waste
Tens of thousands of trees planted
Along the ancient hills and dales
Inspiration springs from little rivulets
Night and day the lilies of the valley
Sit beside the gods of earthly splendour.

Contest: Haunted Hotel
Down At "The Joint"

In the worn barroom of the old hotel,
closed, now, these last few years
exist ghosts of patrons long past,
reflecting both laughter and tears.

Bare shelves that line the dusty bar
once held liquors exotic and mundane;
lower level, less costly, upper the best,
all told, will rot and pickle your brain.

Tell like it is
You don't care for God
But you care for money
And money is your God
I feel ashamed of you
To call God a thief
He never stole money
From nobody
And I must tell you
If wasn't for God you would not be here
He is the one that made you
In his in image
A long time ago

Bleak hotel has no beds
Bare glasses in the empty bar
Haunted room for two guests,
An old and lonely ghost lives here.
Furniture moved at random
Vital bedroom flowers dead
Wilted heart and rotten rose,
The colour of dry blood.

There’s one light bulb naked
From the ceiling, just hanging by a hair
Shadows from the lantern shade
Wallflowers standing bare,
Ash and whitewash on our face.

Out of pain come many words. As chaos swirls, and hunts for peace.
My head hurts from toxic infiltration, or was it the wine I drank last night?
My thumping head fails to cease.
Heavy hearted, sees the day beginning. Off I go, in hope of winning. Or is it hell my hair is thinning?
Deepest breaths, exasperation. Count to ten, or perhaps one hundred.
I cannot tell if I have blundered.
Careful steps , in trepidation.
Look to him, in elevation.
What can I hear?
What does he say?
Oh tell me Lord
Oh how I pray.

The scotus is keen to save face
'cuz their leaning's a gleaming disgrace
the capitulant class
eating drumpfsticks'n ass
like they're masking a sensitive case!

Both you and I are strong beings.
We will always find a way to carry on,
pick up the pieces, rising with the dawn
to do what needs to be bravely done.

Finding the strength to just be.
Now more than ever, in this dark time,
we hear the tone of the mourning chime,
as it rings of bereavement and loss.

We gather our tattered values.
Our worlds have been shaken
our trust is broken; forsaken,
by a madman's vanity and whim.