She saw my pain and gifted me a crown
and named me Queen when I felt like a clown
She sent her gift cross the many miles
And wreathed my teary face in rainbow smiles
She knew what words and rhymes all mean to me
And so she gifted joy to poetry
A chance to add an image to my rhyme
And write of life and what makes it sublime
She left this place for she could not abide
discrimination’s sneer; it touched her pride
But she came back for me in time of need
When others brought me down, my heart she freed
In every line she writes my heart can trace
The beauty of an angel filled with grace
For Silent One's Tribute Contest
Revised August 6, 2015
F J (Flo) Thompson is a woman I admire with my whole heart. Some of you may know the story of how she named me Queen and wrote a poem about my kingdom here on the Soup. Knowing the sensitivity of my heart, she sent me a tiara and hair decorations in the mail all the way here to lift my spirits. She gifted me my first Premium Membership and now….a year later, she gifted me the second one along with a Lifetime Membership. I discovered that she anonymously gifted others Premium Memberships as well. Friends like this are so rare and precious. I’m overwhelmed as I write. I love being able to add photos to my poems and being able to blog. People don’t know what joy I find in writing. FJ knows. She’s my angel in disguise. I’m forever grateful. I love her poetry because of the strength of passion and conviction with which she writes.
Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2015
There is not a poem that you fail to read
Or time that I’m away you don’t ask, “Why”?
There is not a time when you don’t plant a seed
Of joy into my heart when tears I cry
You’ve helped me to believe in what I give
Seen beauty in the silly lines I rhyme
You’ve helped me want a better life to live
And shown me Godly love time after time
You will not leave my writes without a thought
Oh what things need to change for smoother flow
A friendship true like yours cannot be bought
You’ve helped my heart to breathe, expand, and grow
A Guardian poet you have been to me
Accept my thanks and loyal constancy
Jade (Eileen to you, Richard Lamoureux)
This is my second poem by this title. Richard Lamoureux has been a constant friend, mentor, and guide. I so appreciate his integrity, honesty, and spirituality. He's encouraged me over the years I've been here.....to keep writing, to enter contests...and to believe in my self-worth, a precious gift. When I'm gone...he'll visit my older writes and leave a note. :) I've gained so much by reading his book- Dummy: Hurtful and Healing words which is so full of precious insights on the power of words to heal or destroy. Well I know this power. Well have I suffered because of it.
People come and go...It's good to know some are there for the long haul. Some are there simply because they care...nothing more...nothing less. Thanks, Richard.
Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2015
Dear Fridge, you’re getting up in years. Oh, my!
How many now? You must be twenty-five!
The dishwasher already I’ve seen die.
How ever have YOU managed to survive?
Sir Oven also is a hanger-on,
But rarely do I spend my time with HIM!
I use his stove sometimes to cook upon.
Too bad you kitchen things can’t keep me slim!
You never rest! I open up your door.
The produce you’ve been keeping fresh I see;
The cheeses, breads, and butter, even more:
Cold casseroles and pizza tempting me!
I do not clean you often. That is mean!
I ought to prize more my appliance queen.
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2015
Andrea Dietrich is the fair maiden's name
A talented poet who has taught me so much
The queen of sonnets has become her fame
A talented lady with the Midas touch
As a novice I entered the world of Poetry Soup
At first her words seemed like those from a preacher
Telling me I should do things correctly on this group
But slowly in time, Andrea has become my respected teacher
Her poetry has been awarded many an accolade
Not only sonnets, but also for the quatrain and quintain
From romantic writes about a lover's serenade
To heart ache, sorrow and poems full of pain
Andrea Dietrich, a wonderful mother, nanna and wife
Who brings a breath of fresh air to every poet's life
A tribute to a wonderful friend Andrea Dietrich
The Silent One
15 September 2015
Copyright © Silent One | Year Posted 2015
MAY SHE COMES
May she comes, quite boisterous, and so loud.
She melts the frost to orbs of liquid dew.
From dark of moon returned to full and proud,
and waxes bees and moon in breath she drew.
Centaurus follows May with eyes of night,
while pressing Crux and Virgo into play.
She'll gather breeze and scent within her flight,
and tuck their luscious song in her bouquet.
May comes wooing with her amorous hook,
and kisses deep and laughs at each and all.
In lustful flirt she holds us with one look,
and we're in love with May until the Fall.
May she comes, dressed emerald in French lace,
Sultry, yet always innocent and chaste.
By Edlynn Nau
© May 1, 2016
Copyright © Edlynn Nau | Year Posted 2016
I know a very fine poet, a dear colleague, who’s so exquisitely talented and bright,
And has a superb facility with words and themes making all fit perfect and right;
She has an unrivaled mastery of the poetic art and writes with the best approach,
And has an unparalleled ability to write the finest verse beyond any reproach.
This poet’s sense of depth, empathy, and poetic variety is quite splendid to behold,
And she brings such compassion and power to her work worth its weight in gold;
With well-conceived themes and images she invites readers to her special dimension,
While enchanting them magically with sublime verses and holding their attention.
This poet communes with Our Poetry Muse, seeking her scope and enchanted vision,
And shares amply all with her readers with enraptured intent and a perfect precision.
Our friend’s poetry reflects always the human dynamic with such power and grace,
And she finds the right tone, tenor, pitch and rhyme—putting them in proper place.
I must say I’m very proud of our colleague’s work and appreciate so her fine poetry,
And I’m so glad she’s with us and gives us such beauty and elegance in her poetry!
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved, Schoeningen, Germany
(November 9, 2014) (Shakespearean Sonnet in a Rhyme poetic format)
*****Written for the “It’s All About Me Contest,” December 4, 2014*****
Copyright © Gary Bateman | Year Posted 2014
We haven’t been formally acquainted
Though your words now travel in me
A picture of harmony you’ve painted
Love truest, in the very highest degree
Trouble in the midst, but don’t stress
Look into the windows of the soul
Therein you’ll find your happiness
Where two parts become a whole
Partake of this newfound pleasure
Two rivers now flowing into one
The joy contained has no measure
Warmth radiating like rays of sun
On this road of destiny or now call it fate
To encounter true love, it’s never too late
Based on In Deepened Harmony by Nette Onclaud
I do not know you, but your friends desire you back. You must truly be a light and inspiration to them.
Copyright © wayland bunch | Year Posted 2013
When an Ode Operator named Jan
hits the road in her Sonnet sedan,
she keeps Lines in their lanes
riding Rhyme's rough terrains
and drives home every Poe'm that she can
This limerick was written
for my Soup buddy Jan Allison.
Thank you for your playful
input and positive support -
you are appreciated! xoxo
Copyright © Lycia Harding | Year Posted 2015
A green-feathered, yellow head beauty,
that’s my prized pet parakeet, QuiQui.
Even when she’s often crabby and snappy,
she succeeds in making me extremely happy.
QuiQui loves dipping and diving into her bird bath,
and hanging from a perch in her cage, like an expert acrobat.
She also enjoys shaking water from her wet wings,
gazing impishly into her toy mirror wildly shrieking.
Relishing her seeds and red strawberry millet treats,
nonchalantly she ignores my sweet endearments and tweets.
But she shows off her long, elegant, tapered blue tail,
Sitting silently and contentedly unloading quite a poop trail.
And even though QuiQui never utters a single word,
I know she secretly loves me too, my little prima donna bird.
Copyright © Pandita Sanchez | Year Posted 2014
Their pen is mightier then their sword
As they walk and ponder the lonely mile
The slings and arrows that they have stored
Are hidden within their silent smile
I’m only beginning to know your name
For your whispers do move mountains
Perhaps are solitude's may be the same
As we throw our words into the fountains
Soul traveler that you have become
A silent warrior with a rhythmic mind
Poetic visionary who beats to their own drum
A mystic healer who is one of a kind
Whose words of wisdom do stun
Creator of verses—O Silent One.
Copyright © Winged Warrior | Year Posted 2016
Oh, angel, how you flutter 'bout my heart
The joy of love and living you impart
Your voice my soul does carry into flight
Illuminates with incandescent light
Your eyes are blind to wonders of this world
Yet, when you sing, its beauties are unfurled
I live a dream unmarred by pain and strife
Where passion, joy, and love are verdant, rife
You sing my heart into that special place
Where naught resides but beauty touched by grace
Angelic face when lit up by a smile
Invites my heart to dream a little while
Bocelli, angel sweet of paradise
In blinded eyes, the light of heaven lies
March 30, 2014
Sponsored by Anthony Slausen
Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2014
Poetic forms are special tools for me;
their rhythmic patterns mold words into shape.
Like guarded gates, they hold the imagery
and keep it tight so it does not escape.
There are so many types from which to choose—
but strict iambic forms do challenge me.
Without construction, words sometimes confuse;
strong rhyme and meter shape my poetry.
A small iambic form that shines the best—
the Sonnet is a perfect writing scheme.
Its octave sets the stage, then sestet next
delivers firm reaction to the theme.
The ending couplet with conclusion's thought
sums up emotions or an answer sought.
Sandra M. Haight
Contest: Theme #4 - POETRY- (OLD & NEW POEMS)
Sponsor: Skat A
Contest: Which Is Your Favorite Poetry Form
Sponsor: Nayda Ivette Negron
Copyright © Sandra Haight | Year Posted 2015
O for the skills to calm a flighty horse.
Compact its trombone limbs with reins and legs.
Exact perfection without noticeable force,
all trouble and delight that beauty begs.
One horse, one rider, indivisible;
sky-born with earth-bound duty to endorse.
Control from legs and seat must be invisible,
obeying smooth transitions on the course.
Struck by awe, crowds watch, as in a trance
a pleasure trip controlled by aids precise.
Such liveliness contained in equine dance,
by what divine device - this Paradise?
Each discipline involved must scarce be seen.
Before our eyes must seem a floating dream.
Copyright © Suzanne Delaney | Year Posted 2013
Walking down the hallway,
Seeing all the doorways,
And all the choices in life,
Making it difficult to choose,
The right room from all the other rooms,
Bringing you the wisdom and truth,
For the imperfection is within us all,
Which makes us all crawl at times,
On our hands and knees in the dark,
To discover what is right and survive,
In life as long as we can accept,
What life brings to us in our hearts,
Which we patiently accept the pleasures,
And push away the sacrifices much in our lives,
Yet, to correct our flaws we have,
Which causes most our struggles,
Till we open our eyes,
And see what we have and must believe,
That our lives are greater than we ever know,
Cause God created it all for us,
But the choices are ours to make,
To find the happiness,
Which is ours to be found and kept.
Copyright © John Hembree | Year Posted 2013
poets write of hidden beauty in places
poets write of hidden beauty in faces
poets write of hidden beauty in flowers
poets will write of them till interest sours
beauty exists where only chosen be
beauty so dark with your heart you must see
beauty of memories and honor’s part
beauty only shared by a kindred heart
soldiers of honor will answer the call
soldiers courage tested as brothers fall
soldiers of strength stand before enemy
soldiers duty ensures freedom to be
honor, courage, strength, duty, not a sin
honor soldiers hidden beauty within
Robert Gene Stoner Jr ©
Copyright © Robert Stoner Jr | Year Posted 2015
Sweet little girl who snuck upon her mom
without plans already in place to meet,
you’re a tiny hero, a bitter balm
for the wound that left an empty car seat.
A routine visit that ended in tears,
and an operation for the next week.
My sister’s truth was a mother’s worst fear,
never to hold her babe, to stroke her cheek.
After the grim appointment, her eyes glazed
her heart rate jumped high, and her fever raised.
Illness would have stolen her, but for fate.
You had asked a favor at heaven’s gate.
Thank you for saving my sister, sweet one.
I wish though, it didn’t mean your life was done.
Copyright © Brittany Reynolds | Year Posted 2012
Good people will place me where I serve best
And charge me with a most noble duty
Regardless of the weather I won’t rest
Bearing the task of preserving beauty
And though some may sneer and say I’m smelly
Greater peace of mind breathes where I am seen
Everyone needs me to keep their home clean
But if I should not be found standing there
In the place I was left, alone and bare,
Not many would notice or even care
Public places are cleaner when I’m there
Offices, beaches, streets, shops and kitchens
Everywhere people live I should be found
My hope is that people want me around.
Copyright © Michael Dom | Year Posted 2013
~Not Enough Time~
They say she had everything to live for
Did she? Perhaps, if she would had time more
But in the end that wasn't just meant to be
She was beautiful, like a rose, alone.
Her mere presence like a star always shone
Yet, like star from heaven one night was gone
She fell. Her beauty 'mong mortals was lost
Still, she walks this earth with gracefulness most
Death! O Death! With his fatal kiss took her 'way
Death had his way when for her came that day
She seemed had it all, but, time she had not
That ,still she had everything to live for
Perhaps she did, wonder if just had more
Time, but that was something she had more not.
Dorian Petersen Potter
Copyright © Dorian Petersen Potter | Year Posted 2014
Owls, Silent Magic In Flight
Owls in flight glide so deadly silent
prey dies so quickly and violent
Claws just as sharp as a razor knife
nightime is the owl's hooting life!
Resting in tall trees in the hollow
the night's moon they have to follow
No shrieks as they swoop down on prey
owl's eating demands business not play!
A beauty shines with feathers and eyes
smooth flight in dark forested skies
Owls are held to be old and very wise
to love and admire if one simply tries!
A treasure to love and attempt to protect
Tragic if we fail due to ignorance and neglect!
Night Owl - Poetry Contest
Sponsor -Kelly Deschler
Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2014
He stood bravely before me
with a medal of honor in his right hand
and a bandage of agony around his left knee
It seemed like he had struggled to stand,
his crutches lay useless on the ground
I found it hard to understand why,
a soldier in pain didn't even frown
With a voice firm but dry
his words shook me like thunder
"You're now the man of this house"
he uttered like a worn-out hunter
quivering up my legs like a terrified mouse
Drowning my mind through cold ears
he passed his sincere respect and sunken tears
Copyright © Moi Kaira | Year Posted 2012
The Poem and A Poet’s Worth
In senior years I sought to ply my thoughts
And render dreams into a flange of words
To strengthen all the senses in my brain
Creating rhythms beating out a chord
Of many forms into a kin of one
That manifests your feelings in a Poem
A muse of words to stimulate your soul
Where syllables will dance where you direct
And prose is driven to a wide domain
Imagining the breadth of its refrain
A Poet's Worth Contest June 1, 2015
Copyright © Ralph Sergi | Year Posted 2015
Black tulips adorn her favourite vase
At this dinner table set up for one.
Her face distorted as if hit by mace
As she displays the medals he had won.
A clowder of black cats wail on the wall,
Emulating Chopin’s funeral march.
His parents just lie there and their eyes bawl
At the cenotaphs under the tall larch.
The thunderclaps join in the gun salute
For treasured sons returned in body sacks.
These are cold facts that one cannot refute
Unless on haunting stats we turn our backs.
With their memories embossed on a plaque
Those stars and stripes are all now painted black.
Contest: I love rock and roll
Sponsor: Kelly Deschler
Upon hearing of Peter Kassig’s beheading
Paint it Black
The Rolling Stones are touring Sydney
Copyright © Ronald Zammit | Year Posted 2014
Who shall dare to die or to love among the Furies?
Not carry us by lustiness rather by the purpose, wisdom
Whose radiant rage welcomes you and the ambiguities?
And if that unfair, dropsy with pain, then none creates martyrdom;
To recall part of our age, oh bone! The hide prize
From our own mistake in front of the angers and crimes
Aside what left, for in the bloody world that appear to allegorize
And the hate melt cannot freeze from the above cleomes;
Remember we pass through, seal by a target unseen
From a God to subserve in massive, superlove, with such thing
Longingly upon the unforgiving hills from that delirious tween
Of the idea, screaming from every angles the abjuring
Horizon in red; and throw into inflammation,
A day end, nothing to reconcile, a caste of passion.
Copyright © George Zamalea | Year Posted 2012
Thirteen years ago today
The world stood still
We could not turn away
Our eyes with tears did fill
For many lost so much that day
Lives of loved ones gone
The things those crimes took away
What happenened was beyond wrong
Targeted for living free
My country paid the price
Hated by foreign countries
Wanting justice must suffice
So years have come
Time has gone by
Rebuilding towers has begun
Free planes can never fly
Will never be the same
We lost our freedom can't you see
Security is its name
Freedom was lost that day
Our choices not the same
We had to all change the way
That we had played the game
Long lines, mistrust, everyone suspect
We shuffle along, like cattle
It seems we lost respect
Its time we start to battle
I want back what they took from me
My freedom, my right to privacy
I don't want to be microchipped
This country was built on principles
With pride and revelry
We used to be invincible
Strong for all to see
Its time to stand tall again
Just like the twin towers stood
Trust, believe and defend
In the power of the good.
Copyright © Jennifer Marie Oliver | Year Posted 2014
While dreaming of my childhood ocean ties,
mem'ry's chandelier sheds light, somewhat eclipsed.
The essence of the salt still stings my eyes;
the rusty taste of iron hangs on my lips.
The ocean’s fragrant spray not quite so fair
as I recall; it makes me think of death.
Many a moon has set since I was there;
destiny speaks to me - my own last breath.
The ocean’s soft waves bring dulcet mem’ries,
my mama’s silk scarf brushing ‘gainst my face.
Turbulent storms always left me on my knees
under safe precipice back of our place.
It is there my dreams rest as I stand by;
it’s there I shall be buried when I die.
inspired by nette onclaud's poem from 6/12/11, Even After Twilight Loves
We miss you, nette, and long for inspirations from your pen as you have time and
energy. Meanwhile we read your poetry and pray for whatever keeps you away from us to end.
Copyright © Reason A. Poteet | Year Posted 2013
(Dedicated to Fellow Poet and Kindred Friend, Anya Jaenicke, to whom I am indebted for being my "poetic compass" and source of direction)
Does life restrain me from thoughts on your mind;
does it impede my mind's-eye picture of you?
Alas, with my circumscribed point of view
I know this,--that you're of a gracious kind!
A poet and a mentor, you remind
me of a lost faith in what's pure and true,
ideals once held by me and by the few
that all the innocents have left behind.
So, Anya, I extol you as a brother
with these well-chosen lines from this sonnet;
please esteem them (as you would your Mother)
as if your Muse wholly depends on it.
A guide and lodestar, you have earned my love
like the poets whose works come from above.
Copyright © Ngoc Nguyen | Year Posted 2015
That the brilliance of His majestic ways
and fire that burns from His white-hot eyes
give light to space of infinite, vast size
and shine on martyr’s endless lift and praise;
that the grace He shows them endures and stays
in them and keeps and seals their lips from lies
for hearts and minds to remain pure and wise
and give His Word divine, angelic raise;
that the millennial Kingdom's earthly time
arrives after end times' brief, labor pangs
and saves God's children from sin's filthy grime,
so they who were tempted by Satan's gangs
will live on in glory and in their prime
once Christ defangs the Serpent's deadly fangs!
Copyright © Ngoc Nguyen | Year Posted 2013
Red Sunsets On The Blue Hills
What of soft red sunsets on the blue hills
Or true love found in sweet dreams of the light
Just as night frights give deeper cold chills
Crimson sunsetting views show heaven's might.
Such wondrous blazing stirs in me a dream
Fire cast from Valhalla's great skies.
Reminding of dying brave warrior's gleam
Of truth in death's bearing no twisted lies.
Of glowing red sunbeams gracing sweet earth
We can see true courage gifting its hope.
Man cries praying for all that he is worth
For all resting beyond his earthly scope.
When red sunsets tell us life does renew.
We may ponder the path we dare to choose!
Robert J. Lindley, 10-19-2015
Syllables Per Line: 10 10 10 10 0 10 10 10 10 0 10 10 10 10 0 10 10
Total # Syllables: 140
Total # Lines: 17 (Including empty lines)
Words with (syllables) counted programmatically: N/A
Total # Words: 108
Note: On sonnets, I hold that the message far outranks the
far too restrictive form of set meter. Thus I refuse to write in such.
I did adhere to the requirement of ten syllables per verse.
Of course, these "rules" for writing a sonnet are meant to be broken.
And even when adhering to the rules, there will be variation; lines
need not be perfectly iambic, so long as the predominant pattern is
consistent enough to be recognized as such. Many modern sonnets no
longer rhyme, or have variant rhyme schemes, but are still identifiably
a sonnet because it adheres to enough of the rules.
(1.) Valhalla---In Norse mythology, Valhalla
(from Old NorseValhöll "hall of the slain")
is a majestic,enormous hall located in Asgard,
ruled over bythe god Odin. Chosen by Odin, half of those
who die in combat travel to Valhalla upon death,
led by valkyries, while the other half go to the
goddess Freyja's field Fólkvangr. In Valhalla,
the dead join the masses of those who have died
in combat known as Einherjar, as well as various
legendary Germanic heroes and kings, as they prepare
to aid Odin during the events of Ragnarök. Before
the hall stands the golden tree Glasir, and the
hall's ceiling is thatched with golden shields.
Various creatures live around Valhalla, such as
the stag Eikþyrnir and the goat Heiðrún, both
described as standing atop Valhalla and consuming
the foliage of the tree Læraðr.
Valhalla is attested in the Poetic Edda, compiled
in the 13th century from earlier traditional sources,
the Prose Edda, written in the 13th century by Snorri
Sturluson, Heimskringla, also written in the 13th century
by Snorri Sturluson, and in stanzas of an anonymous
10th century poem commemorating the death of Eric Bloodaxe
known as Eiríksmál as compiled in Fagrskinna. Valhalla
has inspired various works of art, publication titles,
popular culture references, and has become a term
synonymous with a martial (or otherwise) hall of the chosen
Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2015
A squad of cavalries turns up at first
their flag flutters at every angle
proud and their poor fate stubbornly reversed
the youngest one of them blows the bugle
Next, day strips itself of night, boisterous
the survivors step over the fallen
to the summit, wounded but victorious
the bravest one sags all of a sudden
That happens and will do, when justice is sliced
it was worth it and it will since God pleads
It's a cause for which our lives are sacrificed
as blooded swords are put back into sheaths
Honor befalls me, who made it public
in a lonely sonnet, epic and lyric
Copyright © Junate Ersal | Year Posted 2012
Is my life not tortured enough for you to see?
I am broken as can be.
My heart is torn.
My tears stain these perfect floors.
Why are singing with glee?
Why do you not care about my every plea?
I am trapped in your arms.
I am the hopeless moth.
How did you pick me?
What is it that you see?
A girl untouched by life?
A flower blooming in the desert?
I have said goodbye to my loving integrity.
You took that from me through R-A-P-E.
Copyright © Layla Elkoulily | Year Posted 2013