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Quote LeftYou do a great job with a site this size to keep it from sinking into the mud. I appreciate your consistency in adhering to the standards. I think this is why so many continue to share poetry at The Soup. Quote Right

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Featured Poetry: Week Starting Sunday, January 15, 2017

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I will be sure to erase,
everything about you.
Men come and go.
I keep you a stranger by my side.
A pair of shoes.
I thought us out to be.
I have been wrong before.
The truth was revealed.

Trying to be strong,
I put it a side.
Wrong once again.
This being the only way I can survive.
An unhappy person,
you made out of me.

Empty memories,
no reason to go on and pretend.
You are their physicly 
Mentally I blocked you out.
Every moments we have.
I still consider them lies.

Avoiding reality.
Drowning in my own stupidity.
Keeping my self focus,
on any one except for you.
Writing to stay occupied.
Dose not help at all.
Every thing I write is bad about you.

Hurting inside,
I do not know what to do.
Bestowing it upon myself.
For not getting rid of you..


Copyright © SKAT A | Year Posted 2010

Autumn's Blush

It's October now;
the air seems somewhat cooler
than my thoughts, yet, I can feel
the warmth in the breeze as it kisses
the trees.
They're turning slightly red
as I did, and am now, in remembering
when our lips first met.

It won't be long now
till they undress;
all good things fall
naked beneath covers of white.
Soon they'll reach out in anticipation
and feel the first few flakes of innocence
covering them deep within layers of thought.

They'll be less red then,
and more at ease in their nakedness
as they breathe deeper.

The wind's changing pitch again,
it's rising high in the hills,
falling low through the valley below.
I can feel it shifting with my thoughts
as I pull back the layers of my own mind.
It's no longer cool, this air, but rather warm
as it mingles your scent with memory, this day.

It's October, yet, I wonder,
will I too fall naked
and less red before autumn's passing?

The wind is calm right now,
it's pausing, but it's still October
and the trees are still slightly red
although I, I am more autumn-like
than they, in my remembering.

Copyright © Sandra Adams | Year Posted 2012

Snow Angels

As morning skies unveil the snow
the children’s eyes alight with glee,
while bunnies hide in banks below
and brilliant blankets mask debris.

The children’s eyes alight with glee
while catching flakes on eager tongues
and brilliant blankets mask debris
in pristine landscape nature’s wrung.

While catching flakes on eager tongues
their arms and legs become the brush
in pristine landscape nature’s wrung,
snow angels preface next day’s slush.

Their arms and legs become the brush
on artist canvas from grey skies,
snow angels preface next day’s slush
shine signatures of minor size.

On artist canvas from grey skies
while bunnies hide in banks below
shines signatures of minor size
as morning skies unveil the snow.

Copyright © Cona Adams | Year Posted 2014


How everyone see me, that’s just my Luck
Who am I? Until I found out, here I am just Stuck.

I pretend to be here, go by their Rules
Trying to get out but my feet won’t Move

Be too friendly I don’t Dare
Where am I? am I really part of their World

Where nothing is what I See
I’m lost in a crowd where people think they know Me

My thoughts is telling me I’ve been here Before
Don’t want to think about that because now I see a Door

I tried to adjust to this life but nothing could Compare
The door seems so close but for some reason I’m not getting There

Hoping to get out of here Soon
Trying not to give up but my faith seems Doomed

Now I’m trying to get out but there’s no Key
I’m stuck in a place where I don’t want to Be.

Copyright © Glo Andr | Year Posted 2016

Opossum My Possum

A tribute to Walt Whitman

Opossum! My Possum! Your fateful journey has ended; your flesh torn and tattered; the curb was so close, the horn you did not hear, children screamed, my eyes keen to steer the minivan. Heart pounding, Opossum! My Possum! Heed my shrill pleas! Here Opossum! “dear father!” Your curly tailed offspring mourn while hanging from a nearby branch. Oh the drops of blood, slightly protruding tongue between pursed lips. I gaze upon your black pearl eyes as I drive by. “But I, with mournful tread,” drive off to the soccer game, as you lay squished and dead.

Copyright © JP Armstrong | Year Posted 2016


Driving down the highway,
watching the world go by.
Seeing things my way.
trying to touch the sky!
No room for compromising,
let the new day begin!
I see a red sun rising,
no time for giving in!

Red sun rising,rising, over me,
breaking the night burning so bright!
Showing where I want to be,                      < chorus
Red sun rising, rising over me,  
shining the light making it right!
Setting my ambitions free!

Red sun ball of desire,
reflecting off my eyes.
Inferno king scorching sire,
Making temperatures rise!
Take me higher and higher,
to where there's no return!
Man my heart's on fire!
Baby watch me burn!!


Night is for sleepers
letting life go by.
Day is for reapers,
children of the sky!!
No more senseless sorrows,on the highway ahead!
the promise of tomorrow's sun rising, rising red!!


There's a better day destiny's at my door,
And it's going to stay with me forever more!
You know,it's so surprising sadness can be shed,
I see a red sun rising sun rising, rising red! 

By Darrell Bechtler    (c)   1999  

Copyright © Darrell Bechtler | Year Posted 2016

But Bob's Not Here

The blossoms are so beautiful this year **,
but Bob's not here.
The birds are singing sweetly in the trees,
and all around me is a gentle breeze,
but Bob's not here.

My hero battled bravely to the end,
fighting for three long years a cancer rare,
inspired his family and all his friends,
and even strangers happening to be there.

His heart grew larger as he suffered on,
The Lord was truly with him all the way,
and with the ups and downs that surely come,
God's blessings were so evident each day.

Every time I heard a certain song,
his wedding dance song, "The Wind Beneath My Wings",
it touched my broken heart so tenderly,
reminding me that God is in all things.

So many beautiful stories I could tell,
of all the daily blessings that were there,
And, even now, my soul is comforted,
remembering God's goodness, I can share,

"God heals the brokenhearted" is so true,
Each day live thinking you have just this day,
to live upon this earth, so live it well,
The past is gone, tomorrow may not come,
And God is with us in the here and now.

** 2013

Arlene Binner

Copyright © Arlene Binner | Year Posted 2017

Comforting Chair

She sat there alone again
with her most favorite of pens
and her worn notebook in hand
asking herself where to begin

Do I:
Write around the dripping of tears
with my heart swelling
between pumping out fears

Then she took a moment
slowly let out her breath
and asked herself..... once again

When did I become so anxious
so she leaned back in her chair
and pondered that moment

Of why thoughts dangled there
before rhyme and before reason
Can this chair rock her into a new season
of writing about her latest artistic routine

Into her pain about fear and doubt
a strain in her breathing into fresh air
In the distorted comfort 
of her favorite chair

Then she thought to herself
I must just sit here
in my favorite chair
letting the seasons come in
where it all began

Through her life's crazy upbringing
and back and forth rocking
comforting with longing
for a new beginning 

She forgot about the chairs rocking motion
so in her thoughts she started flowing

Oh God. She said:
Let me sink deep into this chair
where my memories won't read "Beware"
of the pain she must write
and keep up the fight

Her chair hates scars
with teardrops unwashed
and when she looked apon them
she didn't understand

She left her favorite chair
in such a horrible fright
so she had to comfort her chair
and soothe the scars she left bare

She whispered in its ear
just for tonight
She'll grab a pillow of hers
and a comforter to spare
and she'll snuggle warmly
and sleep with her arms
wrapped tightly around 
her comforting chair

Copyright © Holly Bohto | Year Posted 2016


Oh, to repose beside my wife
And cushion head upon her breast
While, to my ear, she pulses life:
	Moment sublime, I must attest.

Copyright © David Bose | Year Posted 2016


Oh’ poor Mr. Brown
His heaven, is the bar downtown
At home he wished it be
But much scolding, endures he.

Stacey Brown 2-5-14

Copyright © Stacey Brown | Year Posted 2014

The day they came

The day they came

Towering treasures
boxes stacked sky scraper high
giddy city measures
to a tiny timid blue eye.

But there down low to be sold
level with her miniature size,
delicate delights to behold
stolen by glanceful little shys.

A safe hand navigates,
while sighting and exploring,
assists and negotiates
with decisions now imploring.

Dressed as bride and groom
grey ears as big as her own,
cheeks in rosy full bloom
curly tails crudely drawn.

She guarded fierce the pair
rest whole trip through
conspicuous yet none dare
cause challenge to ensue.

Alone now to covet and care
small hands place there tenderly
upon the cover of underwear
where prone she'll face every day.

Stay there their home
safe flat white landscape
hers, all alone
all the while to escape.

Then snatched away
amid emotive strife,
the first of many in life -
displaced and grey.

Cherished ones are lost
Some never forgotten.
Loss being the cost
of all love brought on.

Still in jaded finery
She hope's they remain,
together in unity
as on the day they came.

Copyright © Fiona Callaghan | Year Posted 2016

The Inner Chamber


Please.  Stop holding back on me.

Like a child standing at the neighborhood ice cream truck, arm outstretched, eyes huge, mouth watering.

I stand here longing to slip underneath your decades of cold-rolled steel armor and touch the real you.

Your soft underbelly where your greatest fears run amuck through your darkest worlds. 
Where you hide the monsters you are sure will send me screaming, 
Stuck deeply with their sharpest swords, 
A trail of blood decorating my getaway.
?Where you go to revisit the smell of your newborn’s head and 
The sound of the thousand “I love you’s” that have decorated 
Your heart, like a high ranking general.

His bright, glistening medals lining his proud Chest
Just as your children’s “I love you’s” decorate your soft, gooey middle core, 
That part of you no one else gets to see.

To open these innermost, secret chambers, 
Would be to allow another warrior into your most private sanctuary.

The space where you lay down your weapons, 
Remove your many layers of armor.

I get that.  It’s a most dangerous proposal.
One you haven’t had much luck with in your past.

I understand that when the elixir of youth’s innocence,
Formed a rosy gauze over your insight, 
And your understanding of how your species really works-

You allowed a few in.
I know what they did,

Betrayals scattered across 
Your sacred sanctuary,
Littering the once pristine floors,
That you initially built.
Floors that were not lacking in any way-
From the purest white ideals,
The hopes and impossible delusions,
That a teen bride imbibes as she
Sweetly dreams of her white wedding day.

While your armor may be a suitable deterrent for most, 
I can see it is transparent in some places.
Worn thin from years of overuse.

You should know that.

Through these unintended, accidental windows,
I can see what lies there.
Multiple masses of thick scar tissue where-
The injury of betrayal and the loss of innocence 
Played out like a well-executed horror film,
Leading you to absolute conviction concerning 
The danger such risks can afford.

Should I ever be the very rare, honored guest, 
Chosen to visit you there,
I can’t promise you that I won’t ever
Pull a shank from my pinions and consider
Hacking at your soft underbelly.

I could probably even get a few small
Yet effective weapons past your metal detectors, 
Your multiple teams of soldiers standing guard.
But would I?  Would I pose that danger?

I’ve seen how we can dissolve 
Into tattered, faded copies of ourselves 
Marked with coffee rings and ink spills.

Our most evil versions of ourselves taking over
Like the energy vampires who manipulate 
Every conversation and exhaust all those around them.

I cannot say to you that I have never attacked
With both barrels blazing,
After sustaining a life-threatening blow
From your finest canons.

You know that I have.

While certainly not my proudest moments,
I cannot promise that I, 
In all my medieval humanness and imperfections,
Could rise above my own scars and 
Open wounds and turn to face you,
With my finest intentions displayed proudly 
Like the white feathers of a great owl.

When the salt is still burning through
The wounds that we both knew 
Would probably not ever heal, 
Due to the unexpected, additional attacks 
They have been pummeled with--

When our shadow people join forces to
Show us just how ugly we really can be--
When my own fears and pain from
My own scar tissue turns me into someone
I’d avoid at all costs in a dark alley--

How can I promise you complete safety?
How could I ever be truthful in saying
I could never hurt you,
That I would never consider smuggling in
A small shank intended for your underbelly?

Am I any better, any more kind, less sinister?
Than the black clothed, face painted, stealth ninjas
That snuck in before me?

Littering your inner chamber with blood stains,
Chunks of flesh sliced away with razor sharp swords,
With words that should never have formed
On the lips of anyone who also tumbled forth
“I love you?”

I can’t.  I cannot promise you my visit there, 
Should I ever be permitted into your sacred space,
Will be one of godly like goodness
Devoid of human insecurity, self absorption
And crippling imperfections.

I honestly cannot give you that.
Even as much as I want to.

What I can give you is a broken, imperfect person,
Who at least understands the delicacies of 
?Such an important journey into that sacred space.
A person who recognizes this space of yours,
As truly sacred.

A person who will respectfully take off her shoes,
Not trample the few square feet of soft, 
White carpet that has yet to be stained with your blood.

The lifeblood that the very ones,
You chose to love, and who promised only 
To love and protect you,
Went before me and carelessly, 
Sometimes wits the most frightening and shocking intentions,
Boldly splattered from your tender heart,
Across your white carpet, once so pure and clean. 

I can only promise that my goal here 
Is and never will be to cut you open any deeper.

I can only promise that I will keep this in mind,
Before I go forward and knock once again,
Upon your tightly sealed, inner chamber door.
The one you’ve outfitted with five, impossible deadbolts.

I can only promise that I will bring--
A satchel of tenderness.
A backpack filled with understanding,
Patience and genuine love. 
And hopefully,
If I can fit it in, 
A little, true selflessness.

And should I pack all of this for my journey,
There won’t be any room for my weapons.

So please, when I knock on that door,
Don’t greet me with a long, cold, 
Terrorizing glance down the barrel of one of your biggest guns.

Realize I come in peace, unarmed.
Recognize and acknowledge the white flag
I hold high out in front of me.

Hoping just to know you.
To love you.
To lounge in bliss within your warm, sweet chamber.
Your sanctuary.
And finally get the chance to meet the real you.


Copyright © Elisa Christensen | Year Posted 2016

I Remove All My Clothing Yet I Am Not Naked

Skating fingers criss-cross, glide down my neck;
Under my clothing feel free to check
For a zipper, a button - my body serene,
It’s far beneath my skin the treasure unseen.

Why do you fumble and why with such need
Do you remove all my clothing longing to see
Bare hips so to know me?
Bare back so to know me?
Or pink candy stars soft on my breast
So to impress on your mind my complete nakedness?

I do not stand Revealed, though bare is my skin,
I do not stand Exposed, to believe so is sin.
You have removed only waves which accent the sea;
You cannot fathom the depth of the ocean in me.

See my hips – you do not know my rhythm.
See my back – you do not know my strength.
See my stars – you do not know my dreams:

Go ahead, touch me, I am not Naked
Well hidden are my seams. 

Copyright © Krystal Cochrane | Year Posted 2006

Bittersweet Bliss

It's strange how ten years doesn't seem so long ago, when I saw you running past that shady oak. At first I thought, you can't believe every boy you see might be the one, when a quarter of your life isn't even done.

But I still remember when we were face to face, standing under God's good grace. We were so young, and I used to be fun. You loved me and you didn't even know it yet.

Now ten years later here I am, trying to put back together what we had again. I die more every day not knowing how much more I can take of this. It's killing me, this bittersweet bliss.

Four years feels like yesterday, when you broke my heart since you went away. I pushed you too far and so slow, I guess I never believed that you would really go.

I can see myself in twenty years, still trying to fight back these tears. I know I must sound so crazy, but honestly your love did a lot more than phase me. I guess now I will have to live with all of this, it's still killing me, this bittersweet bliss.

Written and posted on April 4th, 2016
By: Michelle Corbin

Copyright © Michelle Corbin | Year Posted 2016


He should desire a verse of lost day past
while time enough was free to have enough,
When pace and life led more to mean but fast
as Simon said to simply breathe a puff.

To love and be less reckless with his heart,
Speak not of sin nor breach of true love’s spring,
Complete the bond not pressed akin to part
as forced to split amoebas’ kiss must sting.

He must observe his one true Master plot,
His growth less err forgone fulfills defense,
An age to find a soulmate’s breath he sought,
Their fit from Simon’s game of simple sense.

The dream of love begins with one shared breath,
The test of love whilst joined hearts beat ‘til death.
Form:  Shakespearean (English) Sonnet
Written: 06/15/2016

Copyright © Jesse Day | Year Posted 2016

Ten Years

Ten years to go he told me so 
But that was last May wasn't it

Though my heart still beats all the while
Still the blood rushes up from down below

And I get sweaty and can not speak as though 
It were yesterday he touched me so sweet
I felt safe and secure with him like inside a womb  

I watched for him over long days on end
Though I could not see for the earth did not move

I thought I saw a glimpse of him 
Moving towards me

But that was ten years ago 
They told me so

Copyright © Debbie Duncan | Year Posted 2011

The Love Rose

The Love Rose

Love like a red rose bloomed in our hearts
It grew in time but was disguised
Hidden thorns prick and stings in our souls
Until there is no more to unfold

It’s season’s change and love now grows cold
Our lives circled out of control
Sweet smelling scent of love has vanished
Broken hearts with gloom are banished
Nectar of love vapor

Crimson petals fall in the glistening rain
Lapse of time between us has refrain
Thinking our destiny was love bound
Captivating passions spellbound

The wilting desert rose cannot survive
If not rekindled with the sky’s
Raining tears of restoration
Memories in admiration
Can we again fall in love?

Love like petals falling to the ground
Parting wasn’t in the foreground
Essence of love renews our romance 
Alive our hearts still dance

Your ear to my breast hear it bellow
My words in my being echo
Waiting for your riposte
My beating remains innermost
I’m still in love with you

For our love never really grows cold
Unless you want to let it go
So like the rose lets try a new bloom
Take in all joys and refresh anew 

Love like a red rose blooms in our hearts
Its thorns now guards and not disguised
Our souls were never disconnected
We are bound forevermore
 I’m still in love with you

As we walk among our flowers
We feel the scent of love again!

Margaret Franceschini   September 26, 2014

Copyright © Margaret Franceschini | Year Posted 2014

My vision

take a holiday from your perspective, don't you say?
it would help you to evolve past hey!
my way or the highway, as it only causes pain,
what happened to beauty?
maybe it never existed just shame,
covered up by the rights to exist, in vain!
none the less i love this vein of creativity,
that streams from my pain, as i realize it's all
a gain, of experiences with which to change
my pane, so my vision won't be so stained.

Copyright © Rospel Funk | Year Posted 2017