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Moments of Time in Rhyme, Sacramento, CA (2026)

08/26/2026

# 202 An Ekphrastic challenge poem based
on the accompanying picture..original...

The Spectre Of
Broken Bridge Lake

Come with me,
she said,
into the deep,
dark quiet called
Broken Bridge Lake,
Where the water,
in an incantation,
whispers your name,
And,
its gentle rippling
carries away your
pain.

From the noise
inside your
head,
she claimed,
you can escape,
For only
peace
can be found
in this watery,
yet sacred,
space.

No troubles.
No worries.
No constant
heartache.

Here,
there is respite.
Here,
there is grace.

Come with me,
she repeated,
and you will
never feel lonely
again.
Come with me,
and I will be your
constant, forever,
friend.

We will swim through
the swaying
underwater
grass.
We will dance,
in time to the
fishes rhythm,
And,
everyday,
we will laugh.

Come with me...
she said,
offering
her hand,
convincingly.
We will be together,
and time will be
wondrous,
free...
always happy,
You will soon
forget,
she said,
invitingly.

Then,
after awhile,
you will see,
finally,
that it won't matter,
any longer,
that the bridge
is broken,
indefinitely,
And,
you,
my love,
can never leave.

08/26/2026

# 201 A poem based on the below Ekphrastic prompt, with a hats off to Bizet...original...

" Prends Garde A Toi!"

She sways
in seductive rhythm,
Her face half hidden
by her fan.

She teases him.
She entices him.
She puts a flower
in his hand.
She moves
like a serpent,
inviting every man.
They call her
Carmen.

" If you don't love me,
I love you;"
The heat,
behind her words,
begins to char.
" If you do love me,
be on your guard!"
None can resist,
though there
is danger
in her charms.

He puts forth
a valiant effort
not to give in
and
maintain his dignity,
But,
surrender to her,
he does...
completely...
Heedless
of her warning.

Then,
fate takes over
how the story
must end,
She is proud,
willful;
she can not
be possessed.
Full of barely
contained rage,
for his weakness,
He is jealous.
And,
She,
inevitably,
leaves him,
in the dust.

So,
outside the
bullring
they will meet,
"C'est toi?"
"C'est moi."
Making the
circle of destiny
complete.

By his hand,
on his knife,
she dies
in total defiance,
It's a different,
but no less
seductive,
dance,
Giving him blood
instead of a flower,
to keep him
entranced.

And,
as he clings
to her lifeless
body,
crying out her
name,
"Oh ma Carmen!"
like broken glass shards,
Her words are
like bells,
ringing out,
in his memory,
"Mais si je taime,
prends garde
a toi!"

08/24/2026

# 200!!! A contest poem
on any theme, 10 poetic
lines...original...

In Memorium

In the flower
of my youth,
I would sit outside,
breathing in
the fragrances of dusk.

Watching the
orange sunset,
in a state of awe,
I pondered upon
the nature of God.

In the gray times
of my middle years,
sunset became
merely
an ordinary time
of day.

I was always
in such a hurry
to move
from one place
to another.

So,
noticing the brilliant
colors emanating
from the sun's dying
rays,
was no longer
a moment.

Now,
in my waning years,
I pay close
attention,
to the sun
and that glorious
time it reveals
the twilight
of the Gods.

I embrace all the
colors and scents
that appear now,
as if they are
messengers
from the heavens
above.

For as sure as
the sun sinks
below the line
of vision,
at day's end.

I know my soul
will soon accompany
it to its destination,
as a friend.

Then,
all the Gods
will be there,
in tandem,
waiting to greet me
at the horizon's gate...
In Memorium.

08/23/2026

# 199 A poetry challenge asking to add to this line...
"Most bullies forget that,
in the end,
they will pay;
Karma's storebought,
but Revenge is handmade..."
And this picture...
original...

It Is Accomplished

Most bullies forget that,
in the end,
they will pay;
Karma's storebought,
but Revenge is handmade.

"Hell hath no fury
like a woman scorned,"
so they say.
That explosion
at his company
was payback,
For far too
many years
of being beaten
and betrayed.

She had planned it all
with intention that
was careful
and sound.
Revenge is indeed
a dish best served cold,
she had found.

And now
watching his
beloved business
burn to the ground,
It was oh so very sweet,
and she said quietly,
to herself,
wickedly,
"Vengeance is mine...
It is accomplished..."
with heat.

08/23/2026

#198 A poem based on the prompt "Take My Hand..." original...

"Highway To
The Danger Zone"

Take my hand!
I'm drowning,
in my
overwhelming
feelings,
again.
When I sense
this pull toward you,
without some
lifeline
to protect me,
I have been
driven onto
the danger
zone highway...

Danger...
coming from
all sides,
because
You are made up
of a mixture
consisting of
vague promises,
light,
and neverending
charm,
With a nature
determined
to never be
locked down
or disarmed.

Take my hand!
This is all
happening,
again,
too quickly.
I find myself burning,
on fire with
hope,
looking forward,
And,
crumbling
into ashes,
with the memory
of past encounters.

Wasn't it wondrous
when we were
in rapturous
conversation?
We danced
by the light
of the moon,
with stars
and galaxies
for inspiration.

Take my hand!
I am swooning...
Save me
from a watery
grave.
Don't let me
perish
in the flames.
And,
if you can...
rescue me from,
yet one more time,
making this
journey all alone.

Take my hand!
Don't leave me,
once again,
forgotten and forlorn,
Gasping for another
breath,
on the "highway
to the danger zone."

08/23/2026

# 197 A poetry/sort of ekphrastic prompt based on the theme of "A picture that has a detail no one else notices..." original...

A Photographic Memory

A photograph...
A smiling, happy couple,
Her arms
wrapped around
his shoulders,
He stands facing out,
in front of her,
While she sits
on a low brick wall,
on the corner,
Her hands in front
of his chest,
holding something
in her fingers,
Both appear
to be joyfully
celebrating
the ring he just
gave her.

This was the
photo that was taken,
that she felt
most commemorated
that day,
But,
when she examined
the picture closer,
she noticed the detail,
That might
have revealed
the betrayal that was
to follow her.

There he was grinning
from ear to ear,
looking off to his right
toward the corner
of the street,
Where there was
a shadow,
appearing,
at first,
to be
a photographic
distortion,
But,
later seemed
to take
the distinct
shape of a woman.

Was the phantasm
actually real?
Was it really there?
Perhaps, it was
a mere mistake
of the light?
Or,
given how quickly
it was moving,
maybe,
it was someone's ghost,
in a big hurry
to be gone
from his staring eyes.

The picture was placed
in an album,
with those questions
left unanswered
Then,
six months later,
she caught him having
an affair.
And,
it was not
the first
he had pursued,
since they had been
together.

So,
the engagement
was broken;
Smiles were replaced
with copious tears.
And,
when she
opened the album today,
to remove
any unwanted
photographic memory,
She,
now wondered,
if the shadow woman
had appeared
in the picture
as a forewarning.

She wept
and,
suddenly,
felt an eerie streak
of recognition
that seemed
to be saying,
That if she had grasped
the shadow's
message,
as an omen of
a future,
in the making...

Her heart might,
possibly,
have been spared
from breaking.

08/21/2026

# 196 A contest poem based on the prompt..." A Time I Felt Alone..." original...

Like Hours Set In Stone

In every minute,
there are many hours
I have felt alone.
In every hour,
there are
endless days of repetition,
where not much
remains unknown.

I awake alone,
eat alone, sleep alone.
I move through this
tedious routine of life
alone.

My aging body aches
alone.
My weary heart breaks
alone,
And,
I dream of what
it might be like
to not be
alone.

Because,
even when
another enters
my space,
to offer connection,
Their presence
is only a brief pause,
within this life's
unbreakable rhythm.

And,
if I happen
to stumble on
a return to love,
in a relation,
I find it is only built
from the shadows
of abstraction.

Love has become
an insubstantial
conversation,
Based on what
little hope is still
existent,
in my soul's
imagination.

So,
there is no
singular time
that I have felt alone,
Being alone
is now my
permanent home.

Yet,
I can not help
but wonder,
in these many,
lonely miniutes,
That seem to feel
like hours set
in stone,
And,
are turning into
days that appear
to have been cloned,
If it is because
someone has been
afraid to love,
I am alone

08/20/2026

# 195. A contest poem based on the theme..."Heatwave..."
original...

In The Presence Of
Your Heatwave

My experience of your presence is like a heatwave in my body,

Rising fast inside the very center of me,

As if you were the sun, setting fire to my belly.

Flames radiate up quickly to my chest,

Making my heart seem to pump sweat.

Then, the heat brings a muggy feeling to my head,

Blocking all thoughts, but those of you, from having any space, therein.

My lungs breathe hot air in short spurts.

My throat is dry, but only you can quench this thirst.

My eyes are blinded by the light ablaze in your face.

They burn.

I feel dizzy; I feel faint.

I feel red, hot flames dancing on my cheeks.

Unsteady on my feet, I'm, perhaps, beginning to hallucinate.

Perspiration appears to be dripping down the very walls.

Will your arms that look like rays of the mid day sun, catch me if I fall?

Can I survive this triple digit heat you bring that seems to somehow occupy every part of my being?

And, when your presence vanishes, as if in a dream,

The sudden chill it leaves behind, at first, feels like relief.

Yet, the feeling that a bucket of ice cold water has been thrown in my face,

Suddenly, makes every part of my body that was so recently on fire,

Now feel like sharp icicles frozen in their place,

Making a mockery of the tears, in cryo suspension, on my face.

But, if I had to choose between these two extreme states you generate,

I would certainly not hesitate to exchange the blizzard of your absence,

And I would, on my knees, most fervently pray to stay

In the presence of your heatwave.

08/19/2026

# 194 A contest poem based on the theme "Rivalry To Friendship..." original...
(For Susie)

Without Much Ado

In the beginning
of that long,
hot, summer program,
While we were
performing
our individual tasks,
We sat on either
side of him.

When I first met you,
I thought you
were horrible,
And,
I was sure
we would remain,
like oil and water.

We existed,
for a time,
like unspoken
rivals,
Wary of each other,
trying to please him,
our mentor,
We were watchful
and cautious
of each other's
weather.

But,
as the weeks
of rehearsal
rolled along,
on cue,
I began seeing you
from a different
point of view.

Hardworking,
unflinching,
charismatic,
capable,
wise,
yet willful,
You possessed
a sense
of humor
whose bite could kill.

It wasn't long
before we were
laughing together,
Sharing inside jokes,
at will,
Discovering
over beers together,
A similar way
of seeing the world,
without much ado.

So,
by the time
the show was over,
And the curtain
had come down,
announcing
the end,

You, Miss,
with the wild hair
and infectious laugh,
You had become
my lifelong friend.

08/18/2026

#193 A Rattle Magazine Ekphrastic contest poem (Actual picture not available)...original...

Bigger Than Me

Why is everything
bigger than me?
I look high up
at this giant
basketball hoop...
It's tall as Godzilla...
Wondering why
my brother can throw
the ball into that net,
but I can only
stare at it.

I wish I was Superman.
He could do
anything.
He could fly
down the stairs.
He wouldn't be scared
of tripping.
And,
nothing would
ever be bigger
than him
But,
it wouldn't matter,
cause he's
"more powerful
than a locomotive!"
Whatever that means.

I wish I didn't have to
have to wait
to grow taller,
like Mom says I will,
When she stands me up
on that low fence
in the park,
Just to show me how
much bigger
I will someday be...
I hope it happens
sooner cause even
the park
sign is bigger than me!

When I was really,
really little,
just a baby,
I couldn't reach
the kitchen counter
without a step stool
under me.
Now, I just stand
on my tippy toes.
But,
I betcha Superman
never had to use one
of those!

I look up at the big,
tall buildings,
when I go downtown
with my Mom,
Wondering
if I will ever be big
enough to know
what goes on,
behind all those windows.
Superman would
never have to wonder
about that,
from the ground,
He could
"leap tall buildings
in a single bound!"

Superman probly
never had to pout
about how big he was,
at all.
He probly didn't have
to measure
how tall he had gotten,
with marks on the kitchen wall.

And,
most of all
he probly
didn't ever have
to ask the question,
The one no one ever
seems to want
to answer,
At bedtime,
when they tuck me in,
and it's time to sleep...
Why is everything
bigger than me?

Moments of Time in Rhyme

08/26/2026

08/26/2026

08/24/2026

08/23/2026

08/23/2026

08/23/2026

08/21/2026

08/20/2026

08/19/2026

08/18/2026

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