Here’s a palm merits alms — the strong arm of psalms, steeped in balm, to calm: healing harm, stilling alarm; without qualms in animal farms ’midst a storm of napalm — once a schoolmarm, now cool and warm works like a charm — Salaam —

Walk barefoot on bedewed grass at dawn, sit beneath a tree’s freshening breath at dusk, beside a stream flowing crystal, grow young constantly.

Music is emotion perpetual, silver chord divine: eternal note that unfroze celestial architecture of the spheres: the key that unlocks forever flow’ring heart choral — still —

Return to belief, clay sculpture with a spark burning like an eternal lamp, Return swift as a swallow; Cease to disregard the magic mirage in the mirror of your inner soul as one of many — Recognize it as the surface of images. Remove those rose-tinted glasses through which you see miracles performed…

The glacial shift of seconds snaps taut against the sky, a cutting edge on target — sunlimned and scream aslice, my silhouette races the razorback in chosen golden flight for a matter of minutes — moving in an eggshell crack, the edge of the world.

In a pause, a lull full of movement, a season came and went without moment — crossroads, ways and means web the vista with a horizon, always: one more port of call, cul-de-sac havens tossed for — heads you win, tails I lose.

Say, where would omens be if there were none to see and recognize signs? Do omens bind? Apart from those who believe there can be no reprieve from the foretold fate, are there those who animate a prophecy till it is tangible? Or is that the fate of the gullible? Tyrone Graham for Poetry in Form.

Maybe the day To cast aside and blow wide Pride that will not last, Past prejudice and the ideas You choose To use in having your way Lay waiting to tear loose, Fuse with courage and stay Strong as long As night at distant poles. Goals may stay as bright As light, but the roles Ways play Turn sour, and all those Opposing change will learn To spurn loyalty to forces Gone wrong, As all who own to no mistakes Forsake the steps to scale the walls Enthralling their stiff-necked makers.

I bask in the sun each day, singing a prayer of thanks, soaking up each golden ray overflowing its warm banks: like a river running wild — a life-giver to this child — Tyrone Graham for Poetry in Form.