Reaching for you I can’t reach far enough Calling for you You can’t hear my voice Skin gray, cold sweaty Hunched, squatting, unconscious Found you baby boy You were 40 but my baby I watched you stop breathing My heart almost stopped beating Called 911 they came quickly 3 shots of Narcan brought you Back to me, I wanted to hug you I wanted to beat you at the same time It was a horrific sight to see But worse was seeing your babies Their reactions, tears flowing Down their little innocent faces That day I seen you leave I never wanted any other mom Any other children to witness That day you drew a line in the sand I had to choose my grandchildren Over my child, you were grown They were babies, broke my heart Cried enough to water the lawn Thankfully you got help, you needed That was five years ago, now clean Now Daddy in full force, present Overdosed seven times, brought back Praying for all who suffer addiction Praying for family members, effected Please reach out if you are in this space I too was an addict. Clean for 41 years I have been on both sides of the fence I know a really good recovery program It worked but I understand the person Has to be ready to commit themselves CDK 4-28-2026

#PoetryAcrossTime They found this written in the hollow of a beam, tucked where pitch met timber - a place no officer would bother to look, a place meant for secrets, or prayers, or the kind of truth that stains. They found this written by a hand salt-burned and trembling, ink thinned with seawater, letters wandering like a man who has forgotten the shape of home. We came on a wooden belly lashed together by men who never sailed her, chasing a dream sold by those who never meant to follow. The storms took our sleep, the hunger took our softness, and the cold - the cold took the rest. They told us the Cape was a jewel, a place where a man might rise if he worked hard, prayed harder, and kept his head bowed to the right kind of king. But when the shoreline rose like a dark shoulder against the dawn, we saw no jewel - only a wildness that breathed, and watched, and did not care for our arrival. The wind spoke first, then the surf, then the silence of those who had walked this soil long before empire learned to spell its own name. We stepped ashore with pockets empty and promises heavy, chasing fortunes minted in rooms we would never enter, for men whose boots never touched the mud that swallowed our own. They said we were pioneers. But pioneers are only pawns with better stories. We feared the storms at sea, but we feared the storms on land more - the ones made of muskets, and hunger, and the quiet knowledge that we were building a world for someone else's sons. Still, we hoped. God help us, we hoped. For a patch of earth, for a roof that didn't leak, for a life not borrowed from the ledger of another man's greed. If you read this, know we were not blind - we knew the empire fed itself on the backs of the ordinary, and called it destiny. So let this stand as witness, as warning, as the quiet truth beneath the louder lies: We came seeking fortune, but found only ourselves - and the long shadow of those who profited from our belief. They found this written. And now so have you.

“The First & The Last” Today’s challenge is simple… but it hits deeper than it looks. Write a poem where: 👉 Your first line is also your last line. That’s it. But here’s the twist— The meaning of that line should change by the time we reach it again. Same words Different weight. Different truth. Take us on a journey— a memory, a loss, a realization, a moment that bends time in half. By the end, that same line should feel heavier… lighter… broken… healed… or completely redefined. 🌀 Make it full circle. 🌀 Make it hurt. 🌀 Make it mean something new. Drop your poem below and let’s see who can transform a single line into two completely different realities.

Some years back the radio would be on in my car as I traversed rural Africa, visiting Mining companies. Quite of the songs I see as classics would be the background noise that would drown out the sound of the tyres on the road. Whenever I hear these songs it takes me back and one song in particular by Johnny Nash “I Can See Clearly Now” was played daily. The tune was catchy and how many people will remember “I can see clearly now, the rain is gone.” “It’s gonna be a bright, bright sunshiny day.” Well, I decided that a parody would be a great as it really reflects my attitude, so here goes (helped along by co-pilot): 🎵 “I Can’t See Clearly Now (My Glasses Gone)” A parody for the over‑65 legend who refuses to admit he needs specs Verse 1 I can’t see clearly now, my glasses gone I’m squinting hard enough to bend the sun Every blurry shape becomes a cat Or maybe that’s my hat Honestly, who knows at this point Chorus It’s gonna be a bright… well, I think it’s bright Could be the fridge light Hard to say without my specs It’s gonna be a bright… possibly sunshiny day If that’s the window… Or the TV… I’ll get back to you Verse 2 I keep on patting down the sofa’s edge Found three remotes and a stale baguette Checked the bathroom shelf, the garden shed Turns out they’re on my head Classic me, but we don’t talk about that Chorus It’s gonna be a bright… or maybe just white Could be daylight Could be the neighbour’s porch It’s gonna be a bright… hopefully sunshiny day Once I find my glasses And my dignity In that order Bridge Look all around, there’s nothing but confusion Every shape I see is just an optical illusion But when I finally find those frames again I’ll swear I never lost them (Though everyone knows I did) Final Chorus It’s gonna be a bright… definitely bright ’Cause I’ve got my sight Back where it belongs It’s gonna be a bright… glorious sunshiny day Until tomorrow When I lose them again Guaranteed

I created this using the first lesson prompts: [VERSE 1] — fragile, exposed I laid down what I couldn’t name, covered it softly under sand. Its echoes trembled in the dark, waiting for one last command. [CHORUS] — breath‑like, emotional centre Hold me in this quiet light, long enough to come undone. Let the dust fall off my skin, show me what I’m running from. [VERSE 2] — the tunnel / emergence Through a narrow throat of earth I pulled myself toward something new. And when the daylight touched my bones, I knew what I was crawling through. [BRIDGE] — the shift, the thin‑light moment I felt the weight release its claim, a softer truth beneath the fear. The part of me I thought was gone was only waiting to appear. [OUTRO] — quiet landing A thinner self, a quieter breath, rising from the dust I buried.