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New Poets Poems

Don't stop! The most popular and best Poets poems are below this new poems list.

It's Reigning Poets by P , Paloma
A Poets Life by Janko, Betty
What poets have to do by Green, Chris
Silence of the Poets by Reeves, Terry
Protesting Poets by Stephen, Alayande
Poets can dance too by Tagore, Anindya Mohan
How Many Poets: by Keeble, Rick
A Poets Thought -I- by Kalishian, Talin
Bless me Poets by Tagore, Anindya Mohan
A Poets work is never done by Bennight, Ken

View all new Poets Poems

The Best Poets Poems

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"Mine all Mine!"

A thief I long to be
Your eyes original like the moon and sea

A lover in the world............
An Anthology, you walk and talk like the word "AMOR."

The words you send, I nicely tuck under my pillow
Every note every line you left behind 
I memorized till they became all mine
Unauthorized I scrape the concrete calluses off the tongue
Pirating the perfect dramatic monolog look,
Basking through the passage around your Bio, 
Lost in the musky scent -around the sonnet of your aura light 
Epic enough, I reach inside to feel every idyllic rhyme
A strong iambic meter curse, conjuring up the perfect verse
In you I lift a copy paste from your lips, 
No need to credit the sources in your bliss
The sweetest undamaged sensual memorandum book
A moment I stole and sealed without copyright proof

My dearest Poet, 
When you move across the room
I see a thousand arrows that follow from behind, 
Indulged when you speak and point out a verse per verse
I am a victim pampered by your words,
Sponging every line, adding them to my crib notes 
Improved wordplay that infringed my everyday diary
A haiku so tangible, it sets the perfect images in my dream,
Hypnotize after I read your first love poem
A printed feeling--
Borrowed from the sun


Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2013

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Midnight Poet

Whisper's of October  

Whispers in this soup bowl
20 minutes after its muse explodes,
Daylight remains nothing more than a dream 
Warding off the howling sound in mid-September's stream
Casting a line about a ginger light,
  found in the depths of everything
Engaging from the sitting twilight, numb, tranquilized 
Exposing and expressing the emotions found within
An attic lost in the Ancient sky  ---awaits 

A poetic hand is formed ---reaching out
A hissing whisper out of the darkness, 
Listen-in,  the echoes of October are calling
A halo, that reconciles a mysterious monarch moon
A mono grip in which summons a mysterious voice
  of sweet serenity
Poets posting poems along the midnight page
Each poet can compose a poem and mimic free fallen verses,
One might  call it a creative craving curse,
Webmaster's whose words speak for themselves
They feel, and spills the will of idolized ink,
Blind-handed, splitting day from night

Warm whispers, needing no food to consume
Migraines of ink, feeding the soul
Burning Pages, overused pens
They've forgotten the pretty flowers
Living like lions, who never comes out of their dens
Murmuring and devouring, the enigmas of the unknown 
Eyes behind a sieve, close tighter than before, 
They hide nothing-
A world created from every sky-scrape the wall
Wanting to belong, a trick -or- treat*er in disguise 
No friends, everything is pretend
These poets can’t be described, can't be believed
They are the best in what they do
For all you know this poet might be me, 
This poet might be you


Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2014

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The Poets of Gloop

Have you heard of the wonderful Poets of Gloop? 
Their imagery slouches and metaphors droop,
but the poems they write have the scent of a rose 
‘cause they write in a garden where poetry grows.

They live in a place called the Garden of Gloop. 
It’s a beautiful garden for such a great group! 
They’re divided in teams, labeled A, B, and C, 
but they’re never quite sure on which team they should be. 

Well, the A-team is run by the “old-timer’s” clique.  
They have been there the longest - they know how things tick!
So do NOT try to trick them with ticks that are tocks, 
They’ll assume that you’re fake if your poems are crocks. 

Team B is comprised of a colorful few
who observe from the top, and they’ll fight for that view. 
They’ll whisper their thoughts as they give you their wins, 
and they’ll keep you engaged with their winks and their grins.  

Team C are just people who try to stay real;
so they sit the on the fence, and they feel what they feel.
They’re nobody’s puppet, for goodnesses sake!
And some peeps are so good, they’re thought to be fake! 

Now, here’s the weird thing about Poets of Gloop:
They all run in circles and try to regroup!
So that guy with the A-team? He used to be C … 
And what’s up with that one?  He’s now such a B ! 

So they flip and they flop as they fight to fit in,  
and they frown as they fall, but they get up again, 
for a Poet of Gloop is a poet who knows,
they all need to belong there, where poetry grows. 

Copyright © Rebecca Teagan | Year Posted 2016

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Silent Page

Silent Heart

Sad, as it maybe, I had to break my OWN heart, 
Too many nights, I sat there all torn apart
A dream girl, 
Sitting under its own corrupted auspices sky 
You the poet, in disguise
Telling white lies about, your love for me
Saying I'm a born from the sky....
A match, a queen, your muse, your everything
I'm no good, I admit this once more, 
Your advice, I forever adorn 

It's time to follow the crying crows and praise what is left
Afraid to listen my rhymes weren't cutting it, 
I release it all!
Your smiles, words, and worn out shoulders
I walked away
I acted on
Without a word, in a fetal stage I awake
Tonight you carry a tune for others
A story of a man who stole my soul of sins
A poet, I long forevermore
Always, you will own the only sound that still beats inside
To live alone, in silence, asleep in my own world
I had to let go, 
-Of him, whose name I whisper in darkness
The only thing that remains is the echoes of pouring rain

Too many reasons, writer's block, took full moon
You are a poet, from another lifetime, 
Down in Mandalay, I can no longer ask you to stay
Reading everything about my life, silent and old
Alliterating poems, greeting every dark shadow, normally yours
Many nights I waited, long for the moment of my OWN return
Instead, I found myself alone
Trying to dust off yesterday's verse, yesterday's dirt
Cobweb remains on my page
My pen now sits like a twig
No motion, since the day I decided I am not worthy of the wait
You the poet, who walks my way
I pressured less of me every day
Like Aspen, a forever winter cold! 
Isolated to the world
In your eyes, you wonder why, 
I trace the white smoke standing in your place?

To savor your words, once more 
It's too soon to breathe again. 

I hope you understand, 
How can I continue to love when I don't even love myself?


Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2014

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Pretty Poet

Where Have All The Pretty Poets Gone? 

A real poet are you, charismatic over everything you serve
Showcasing, a rainbow that folds the perfect world wide perspective
I'm talking about flawless literature at its best no typos, no muss
Just a page full of boredom and rust
Thank you for having Lunesta all up in my head
It's like reading a poetry lesson, from the extras of The Walking Dead
An image frozen cold, waiting for inspiration to hit like Al Capone
I'm bored of your flora flamboyant language rocking me like stones
A psychedelic trip, into the odyssey of a blind man's tale
A home where I am pushed to open a dictionary & thesaurus with braille
Wondering what you just said, --Hakuna Matata, what a wonderful day! 
The best rocket pen poet in the USA Today, 
Launching words like no tomorrow, a fool of wordplay and sorrow
A godlike guinea-pig genius, delegating poetry politician style
Perhaps, one day you will become a famous writer
Burning books, like a cigarette lighter
Until then, enjoy pushing your pen as if it was cocaine, 
Snorting up and cutting up the food chain in vain
Patronizing and ignoring those, for better or worse
A solo cup stuck up another cup, -won't even look my way
Correct me if you will, it's no big deal
Just don't forget to give me the same respect I offer you

Until then my pretty poetic friend, I kneel before no one 

By: ME

Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2014

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We Push The Pen

We push the pen to make you feel
the gentle tapping of the falling rain,
the stinging burn of the summer sun
the heavy heart of despair and pain.

We push the pen to make you see
the vibrant orange of a monarch wing,
the secretive soul hidden in our eyes,
the golden sunrise in early morning.

We push the pen to make you taste
the sweetness of love's first kiss,
the bitterness of heartbreaking defeat
the richness of pure chocolate bliss.

We push the pen to make you hear
the clear waters babbling in the brook,
the forgotten laughter of our inner child
the cracking spine of a brand new book.

We push the pen to make you savor
the pungent petals of the red rose,
the crisp aroma of a tart green apple
the autumn air that excites the nose.

We each push the pen in different ways
with our own tone of voice and mystique,
an art form that no other can duplicate,
no right or wrong, just wonderfully unique.

Copyright © Kelly Deschler | Year Posted 2015

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The Poets I Hope to Meet in Heaven - A Tribute to Chan Hurst 1979-2014

A few poems written by Chan Hurst, (Just That Archaic Poet)

I hope that we can find some comfort in them at this sad time.

"A Rational Explanation"

What must I do to see this through-
Unlock the world I never knew?
For all I've seen hath been untrue,
As all I've felt hath plagued me, too!
I am no more, past Deaths before
I've reached the end of Living War-
(to see through eyes both blind and closed)
A life to touch, but never know...

"Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep"

Every day, to God I pray
For answers to Life's enigmas
Patience lays in wait to stay-
To cleanse our Social Stigmas
We pass the time in our idle Dreams:
Like fallen stars in singing streams

"A Happy Ending"

Remorse and regret, I mustn't forget
Remind me that Life is a process of Learning
Indeed for I sorrow'd; 'twas always upset
As the Truth was met with painful discerning

But now my eyes are open-wide,
Grew to love what I once despised
I am no longer sick inside-
I just feel happy to be alive

"A Master's Approval"

No happier could I ever be,
(Or feel a joy's enormity!)
Than to know a Soul as Poe-
Would say he likes my poetry!

"The Poets I Hope to Meet in Heaven"

I pray that in my Eternity,
I'll meet Shelley, Poe and Emily
That we'll all sit down at a table round,
And at length discuss our Poetry!

And Longfellow, lest we forget
Lord Byron, Shakespeare, and beloved Keats!
If I prove their favorite Poet,
I could accomplish no greater feat!

For all my many silly musings,
This one I covet above the rest
For my Soul's toil- finally proving
That the Masters love me best!

"Heaven For A Poet"  by Kelly Deschler

My own piece of heaven, a quiet little nook,
With only the finest parchment in a leather book,
A feather quill pen and an ocean of ink,
My thoughts would never stop to think,
Every single line I write would rhyme,
My poetry would be beautiful and sublime,
I'd be entertained daily, by Dr. Seuss,
And, put to bed nightly, by Mother Goose,
Lessons from Byron, Shelley, Coleridge and Poe,
Teaching me every single thing that they know.

My own piece of heaven, will have to wait,
Until one day, when I must meet my fate,
So, for now I will have to be content,
With my own words that may be heaven sent,
Inspiration from my idols is all I need,
Writing poetry in a notebook from Mead,
With this cheap, plastic Bic pen,
And a dream to be, just like them.

This poem was one of mine that Chan had faved, so I thought it would be appropriate to share this now and dedicate it to him.

I will always miss you, BP, my brother in poetry, but I sense that you are smiling down on us now.

I know that Chan idolized Edgar Allan Poe. I remember him telling me that someday,
he wanted to share a table in heaven with that "good ol' E.A. Poe".

So, Chan, if that is what you're doing now, I envy you, my friend! 

And, you said that you would personally invite me to that little gathering, remember? :)

Copyright © Kelly Deschler | Year Posted 2014

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A Poet's Heaven

Among the classic poets of fine rhyme - are balladeers who weave with lines a tale, the satirists and bards of the sublime, and troubadours who sing a light rondel. I close my eyes, imagining I'd dwell among them all - a poetess in bliss. Could heaven be as wonderful as this? With modern poets too I would commune; With friends I'd known on earth I'd reminisce . . . and poetry would flow - celestial boon! A Dizain with rhyme scheme: a. b. a. b. b. c. c. d. c. d

Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2015

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Like Cleansing Rain

Such contemplating that the poets do. They sing of God, our spirits to renew. With Mother Nature often they’re in tune And offer up their verse to sun and moon. They praise the sunset over a blue lake While pondering man’s purpose, and they ache. . . They ache for all that earth can never be, For dreams they’ve lost, and for humanity. And when they ache, their words are filled with pain Which pour out from their soul like cleansing rain!

Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2016

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Poet -This Poem is About You

-Dear, Mr & Mrs Poet- 

Do you ever question where it comes from?
This poem's about you, sit down and get a load off 
Tranquilize your pen, take heed to the ecstatic applause 

The things in life we take for granting, in time get worse 
From WHICH' our lives transverse, ascends a deep poetic curse 
You write almost everything, rehearsing every living verse 
Embezzling words, like Martha Stewart, ---NOT YOURS!
Withdrawing from your substance, 
--yielding it to others, who aren't devoted lovers 
Spacing your lines, ready for reader's digest, 
Educating the mind, like Albert Einstein

You paint a different horizon for the color blind,
Drop a note, forecasting the news, that brings, Spring to mind
Your adrenaline, leaves people with a feel good faint.
At this level, Poet you're better than high speed Internet,
Anything that makes you feel this is the real deal, 
Today, you write like there's no tomorrow, borrowing yesterday's clay
Inspiring ink, left to right, feeding the need to breed a poetic degree 
Your dramatic dialogue, deserve 'The Peoples Choice award."

I love the sweet audio, when you lowercase every word
It's done so well, hell, let's never capitalize another word
Reaching a point across, when capitalizing every letter, 
This is your world, take it, manipulate it, with the perfect stanza
Produce it like a poetic film, imagery, action, CUT it like Jerry Bruckheimer 
One day Hollywood will incite a roll, looking for the best poetry soup rhymer

Your tears and affection, you pour on partial paper,
Showing every word you want to enunciate
A SHOULDER-- gone cold, drowning, forgetting the normal way
Writing about the pure religion that meets your light, 
A beautiful flower under the moonlight
Hear the bells, Poe wrote about, adding sprinkles to the twinkle in your eyes, 
A redolent scent not meant to be forgotten, from Eden's garden
Taking nature, by course, granting her a crown, before slamming us down
I will call her out --The evil and the fury of a goddess, a beast
This is my feast, I welcome you to my jungle, and the outer bounds of time.

If you ever question where it comes from?
Sit down and get a load off, listen---Where's the ecstatic applause?
I'm not afraid to say, -----I'm Proud to be A Poet Without A Cause

I do it for fun

Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2014

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A Tribute to a Star

On you the angels did bestow
a glow your friends would come to know
as star-shine!

For even stars cannot outshine
your countenance. It's as divine
as starlight.

Oh, how you hush those stars, my dear,
from brightly shining when you're near;
they're star-struck.

I too am stricken by your sight.
I'd love to be with you all night
to star-gaze.

Shine on, sweet man, but do not burn
too long or strongly; stars might turn
to stardust!

This was dedicated to one of my favorite poets at Soup.  I am not sure if the contest rules about showing names applies to MY name AND the star's name or to both. So I am taking his name off the poem! 

Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2015

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I Write A Poem

I write a poem that will entertain the world.
A poem that will fade someone's fear.
The one that will inspire you to smile.
Something that can make you out of mind.

I write a poem for lovers and friends,
To describe the feelings, how is love moves the earth.
A poem that encourages deads to live.
To keep the sun shines over the fields.

I write a poem that makes the whole world read.
A sentimental of a heart from lover who left.
The adventure of a man who travelled the lands and seas.
The agony of a woman who lost her baby.

I write a poem....
Until my ink gets dried.
Until the sun meets the horizon.
'til there's no tears fall in my eyes.

I write a poem...
To fall in love once more.
To hold the hand of a new lover,
To see the stars, the moon in full bloom.

I write a poem....
Until the last leaf falls in tree.
Then my life fades in the shadow of eve.
And every memories be left in dreams.

I write a poem....
Please care to comment and sealed with  a kiss.
Choose one or two to be your favourites.
And dont forget, fave the author of masterpiece. =D

** 2nd Place Winner in Poet Destroyer aka Linda's Contest: Any Poem #28 **

Copyright © Aiyah de Torres | Year Posted 2014

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A Poet With A Priceless Pen A Poets Worth

I am poet with a priceless pen
born to burnish the beauty of men.
I wonder what mortal mirrors reflect...
For me, all races deserve respect.

I often hear the splashing of rain,
and flood rushing down the drain.
I see the petals of the morning bloom
and dawn peeping into my dusky room.

I strive to forget the tales of ages long gone
when dreams died as deeds undone.
I am a poet with a priceless pen
born to burnish the beauty of men.

I pretend to be a terrific tree
sapping the tears that betide me.
I feel old scars opening each time
my heart tends to commit new crime.

I touch the heart of the gentle moon
and worry if the Sun will shine at noon.
I cry for the youth and aged in need
and for gluttons in the grave of greed.

I hear the whispers of wealth and wisdom
flowing freely from the field of freedom...
I am a poet with a priceless pen
born to burnish the beauty of men.

I understand the chains of our choices;
frailties of our fate; our darn differences.
I say let us not preen on what is not ours,
we will leave them in the six-feat towers.

I crave a world without woes and worries;
the mortal mall of matchless memories
where everyone trades a lasting legacy...
and love is shared on the platter of mercy.

I long to see gray skies turn blue
and my sweetest dreams come true.
I am a poet with a priceless pen
born to burnish the beauty of men.

Copyright © Adeleke Adeite | Year Posted 2014

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Super Soupers

It was a rainy day so I flipped through a stack of comics
My Amazing Poet series
Finally I picked the fabulous Five
I liked the picture on the front
Yanny the Zen Master with long black hair
Becca the Creative and Beautiful with her mythical pen
One of my favorites sultry Eileen known as the Emotionator
Anne the Philosopher was right there beside Eileen with her magical smile
Then to round out this team was Vicky Victorious calling from the wilderness 
In this edition they were battling the Poet Destroyer and Joker Jack
who had kidnapped Newbie Timothy Hicks
As I read their words I was in awe of my Heros
They made me cry
They brought me to new worlds
Filled with adventures
Sexy had new meaning
Tears became diamonds
Winds swirled inside my head
All the emotions of the rainbow
I longed to write with such clarity and strength
I tried to flex my poetic Muscles
Worked out every day
Then on the back of the comic
A scrawny poet sat on a beach
Beside the girl of his dreams
He is writing for her when along comes a muscular poet
The big poet kicks metaphorical sand in his face
The the scrawny poets girl is whisked away
Underneath it says
Are you tired of having Metaphorical sand kicked in your face?
Are other Poets getting the girl?
All that can change
Join the Andrea Dietrich School of Creative Poetry
She will have you writing like The Fabulous Five
You will never be afraid to flex those poetic muscles again
So I cut out the back page and sent my five dollars
The address is PO Box 88888 Inspiration California 
Now all I can do is wait
What will the future Hold?

Note there are many Poets here who would appear in my vast Amazing poet series.
Poet Destroyer and Joker Jack are not Evil nemeses they were chosen for the roll
because of their names( also I love their work.) I hope you enjoyed my little tale.
Some of the younger poets may not be familiar with the Charles Atlas ads that used
to be on the back of comics, the rest of you I am sure will get the joke.

Copyright © Richard Lamoureux | Year Posted 2013

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On Poetry Soup

A first day on Soup is filled with much awe The wonderful poems will make you smile Easy is it to fall for all Some enabled my mind, lingering a while Just the few Soupers I mention here Will blow you away with works of this year! Janet Cervenka almost made us lust When she penned a piece on Heavenly's bust Marvelous is the diversity of Jan Allison Such a dressed gem, and she's only blooming Nandita then tells us that she's no Jan Indeed her craft is paralleled by none Man! the lyrics never cease to flow for Dave So highly endowed with a skill many crave You see, my first day on Soup I was greeted by SKAT Who so humbly laid down the welcome mat And if there exist a bond no man can put asunder I have to say it's between SKAT and Linda O! How can I forget 'Half of A Heart' A Sara Kendrick special, such design and art! Who better to mend our Broken Wings Than the namesake with a quill in full swing Yes Soupers always brighten my days Place me in velds full of beautiful haze And there I spot a Mystic Rose Defined so uniquely like a Kim Nunez prose From a consummation a lover was denied To the hautiness of a lonely man's pride Whatever we plan to glimpse or scoop We tend to leave with more from Soup

Copyright © Wilfred Aniagyei | Year Posted 2015

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You'll Find Me Before the Ink Is Dry

My inky echoes conflate, 
atop mountains of ivory versos; 
Blank pages into whispers,
like the sway of moonlight tides;

Papers dappled by my ineffable, 
frays of jet-black cursive swirls;
My best ideas are forever found, 
somewhere amidst silent worlds;

'Tis best to search for me right before, 
the feathery quill touches to the page;
Arisen from the blotter, my hand held in totter, 
but before I drizzle down the tar;

Where my psyche thinks loud,
with the rhythm and the rage;
A battle-ballet of coarse cashmere haze,
only then does my heart think to open up its cage;

Still I promise to always behave like a poet, 
one who is the epitome of an idyllic odist; 
Solemn ink be my savior, perhaps a mind lost in time,
resonant verse between blinks, my soul in the lines--

March 15, 2016

Copyright © Sam Jameson | Year Posted 2016

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Be on Guard Against Poets

My sweet child
My daughter
Be on guard
Be on guard of the man
Who plays on your heartstrings…
Not with flirtatious smile
Nor with flexed muscles
Not with devouring eyes
Nor with intellectual prowess
Or clothes so fine

No, these you can resist
You can set boundaries
And be done
The threat, false alarms 
Their charm easily undone
Your defenses will withstand
The groping hand
The false charm
No, don't be alarmed

Oh, but child
My precious sweet one
Be on your guard
I beg you
I implore
Be on your guard
From the man named, “POET”
A man who wields words
Who crafts and designs them
Like a carpenter with wood...
Who makes them into jewels
With a jeweler’s touch...
Who makes them sweet delicacies
That simply melt in your mouth

He can shape and design his words
To fit your every need
He writes down your dreams
As though they were his own
His words an homage
To your beauty
Your form
The light in your eyes
The way you entice
Your captivating smile
Your dark tresses
Cherry lips
Or the curve of your hips

Oh, dear one
Be on guard
For he means to take you
To sweep you away
In the tide of beautiful rhymes
The rise of fall of passion
Making your body move in time
He means to ensnare you
To capture your soul
He means to dominate 
To slowly undress
Intoxicate with his words
So you forget common sense
He wants you to eat from his hands
Choice morsels of love
While he whispers in your ear,
“There's more where that came from.”

My child
Be on guard
For words cannot pay
Your rent or expenses
Cannot save your day
Words won’t be there
When you cry in the night
They won’t be able
To turn on that light
Words won’t be your lover
With hands nice and slow
That touch you in places
Words can never go

My child, 
My darling
Listen to me
Stay away from those poets
They’ve got potency
They will woo and bewitch you
Throw fairy dust in your eyes
But at the end of the day
Only a few don’t tell lies

My child, my sweet
Get a man who will be
With hands that caress
And with eyes that speak
Of your body in that dress
Spoken words make you weak
With lips that touch yours
That say you’re divine
That lick from your navel
That sweetest of wine
Stay away from those poets
Be on Guard
Save your life!
For a poet, my child
Is the greatest danger in life
The greatest beauty
The greatest dream
The greatest heartache
The greatest strife
Be on guard

Eileen Manassian Ghali

Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2013

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Behind These Red Brick Walls

I remember living quietly inside these red brick walls,
a soul, wandering alone through those dark, empty halls,
this is the place where I used to rest my weary head,
now you, another poetic heart, are dreaming here instead.

I was just a poet, a soul like you, so do not be afraid,
this is where I once lived, and this is where I stayed,
I want to whisper my secrets to you, late after midnight,
just hear my faded words, and I will remain out of sight.

There was a lonesome time when I wrote poetry, too,
now I am here, to be your muse and inspire you,
100 years ago, I lived on the other side, only now,
I dwell just behind these red brick walls, somehow.

(A sequel to my poem, "These Red Brick Walls")

Copyright © Kelly Deschler | Year Posted 2014

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Valentines Death

Red roses true
Skies so blue
Lovers doing what lovers do
Chocolates and confessions
of eternal love
Building up hopes and dreams

I, behind the counter
At the ripe old age of 69
Watch all the youth
Filled with hope and desire
Love is like clouds in the carefree sky
They all stare and thrust
Hoping to latch onto a dream

Reality is not so kind
Illusions die on the ides
Kisses left unfulfilled
Roses with more thorns than hope
Wine so sour, blood is in flavor

Ah, but for now they are all happy
Holding hands and bouquets
Pink roses and red carnations
The road they know not to damnation

Who am I? To spoil a dream
Who am I? To laugh when they scream
You see love was a knife
That murdered me long, long ago

I may breathe, but the death possessed me
The life all but left me
So tonight as lovers kiss and fondle
I wish them well, from far over yonder
I kicked out the chair
The rope taunt and tight
As my last breath
Whispered to my long lost love
Good night

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2016

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A Poet Just Like Me A Poets Worth

I’ve thought about it long and free 
of what it means to be,  
a poet just like me;

I see the birds of morning fly 
and I get really high;
I want to tell you all about it, 
In pen n’ paper glee 

I feel the flowers pulse in red 
and suddenly the world is wed 
married to my mind, I write 
With joy and happiness 

I’ve thought about it long and free 
of what it means to be, 
a poet just like me;

My 24, 2015

Copyright © Mystic Rose | Year Posted 2015

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Sending Waves Touching Beautiful Always

She who sends waves touching beautiful warm and gracious words
Draws bright sunshine smiles in our hearts as they sing in her grace
Flowing from the heart her beauty held in her Quill ready to write
Pure diamond sparkling rainbows as a true friend is a friend in deed

The tidal wave raises fine soaked sand from the bottom of the ocean
And the waves curl out pearl white reflecting a most Picture Perfect
Image that is truly splendid and always sublime to behold and cherish
As Nature’s soft wind caresses your aura and inspires your next poem

She who sends these very waves touching beautiful personifies a Muse
So rare, so special—and brings her influence and talents to bear in
Masterfully supporting the efforts of fellow poets and dreamers as they 
“Spill Ink” on blank pages late at night crafting their next poetic masterpiece

The very power and wonder of her good works and positive influence are
Always there magnificently arrayed like pure beams of sunshine touching
And dazzling all in her reach quite profoundly with the magic of her thoughts 
And the quiet courage of her convictions as the simply wonderful poet she is
Gary Bateman and Liam McDaid – A Collaborated Poem (Free Verse Poem),
November 26, 2014 

NOTE: Written in Honor of Anne-Lise Andresen for Her Fine Poetry and For 
Her Continued Professional Support and Encouragement of Other Fellow Poets.

Copyright © Gary Bateman | Year Posted 2014

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Long Distance Dreamer

Call me evil
Call me names
Call me 

Kiss me on the lips
Kiss my heart
Kiss me

Wrap me in your arms
Hold me within your breasts
Whisper your longings

Touch me with your voice
Touch me with your caress
Touch me

Fondle the thought of forever
Fondle the thought of longing
Fondle me

Dance for the happiness inside of you
Dance to wash away your tears
Dance into my arms

Walk the path of wisdom
Run towards my heart
Kiss contentment

The sword of lust is shining
A dozen daffodils to undress your heart
Flower me with kisses

Call me

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2014

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PoetrySoup Heroes

They read our poems, and more than that,
they leave a word or two.
It isn’t much, yet that’s a thing
some folks here NEVER do.

Some heroes never visit me.
I sure do wish they would,
but I am glad to know at least
to others they are good.

They welcome poets never seen
by simply saying hi
or click to comment on our poems,
not just on that “Reply.”

I know we all have busy lives,
but if we post a poem,
it’s much more fun if we can feel
this is our second home.

The builders of community
are whom I’m writing of.
To those I’ve met and those not yet,
I’m sending you my love!

I just found out I had to choose
three poets and no more.
It pays to study contest rules
not after, but BEFORE.

And so I'll name three friends of mine:
The very first to greet
me and become a truest friend
was Nikko, one so sweet.

Another one to fit the bill
of great community
is Jan. I love her humor and
her sweet sincerity. 

So many others do their part
to make this place so great.
My newest friend is CayCay, and
to meet her was my fate.

Three friends, all women, do their part
to build community.
These are the ladies who now bring
sweet sanity to me!


Since my Poetry Soup Heroes are too many to name, I have named three Community builders that I am currently the most in communication with through Hotmail: Nikko Palmario (who goes by binibining P.iNk), Jan Allison, and CayCay Jennings. For me, friendship is everything.  Without good friends here, how can one truly enjoy the experience?

Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2015

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By the roadside sat two men
One a soldier the other a poet
One a warrior among men
The other a warrior of pen
One sculpted by war
The other, horrors of the soul

Each had fought a war 
For their souls
One had killed in jungles cold
The other in  pages cold
Each to save their soul

These warriors of old
Sat by that road
Where it got clammy and cold
Each in their own thoughts
Each recounting days old
When their souls were lost
One to the gun
The other to the pen

But don't think the poet
A lesser man
For as a boy he became a man
The pages were real death
Forced to kill those ugly men
Who took his soul

It was just a dynamite stick
And the fuse went boom!!
No more turns
Being passed around like a cigarette
By those men
There was just no more
Cigarette smoke breath

And don't think the soldier
Anything less
They were just orders
Kill them!
They were just children
Kill them!
The enemy must learn
Here we mean business

So the two warriors
Sat side by side
And stared blankly
Across the cold clammy road
And in the distance
A storm cloud formed
Then sudden thunder
Each warrior ducked

Copyright © Marugu MO | Year Posted 2016

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Poetry Soup Heroes

We're Off To See The Wizard.

Emotion, a storm that came, swept me into the poetry game.
A tornado, carried me to this place, a new face, I'd never be the same.
I was greeted with techni-color, I was black and white, out of place.
Munchkins, the whole lot, greeted me with aisles of smiles and glow,
Welcoming me to a whole new world, one that I would come to know.
They say go, find that wizard, take a journey to eternity,
Life will be a better place as I find the friends to walk with me.

My footfalls step one in front of the other, Toto, he is at my side,
He takes this trip with every strip and dip, to him my secrets I confide.
And we follow the yellow brick road, chirping and singing along,
When we come across the scarecrow who hangs strawed and strong.
He comes with great knowledge, a Wise Dummy, he is so smart,
A character with creative charm and clumsy grace, his poetry is art.
He thinks great thoughts even though he thinks he is just made of stuffing,
I could not journey this experience alone, this genius is quite somethin'.
From the mysteries of our histories, similarities begin to appear,
And I welcome him into my adventure, he is terrific to have near.

We skip along the yellow brick road, hearing a crinkled creek,
There stands rusted with nature trusted, a tin man mild and meek.
Tipping the oil can we lubricate and he starts to enunciate and pronunciate, 
A song beats as he moves his feet, he has no heart but wait...
As we all start to travel, his lyrics start to unravel, he has marvelous melody,
And he sings with all his mighty might, songs so very very right just for me.
I would not be fooled by his metal, his surface so smooth as a kettle,
He may be made of tin, but his heart beats strong within.

As a troop we continue to see the wizard who is our goal,
Every word we write along they way has be written in our soul.
Out of nowhere jumps the lion, roar, he tries to frighten us away,
But how cute he shies when we see through his disguise, a pussy cat, a stray.
He has no fear of the things he writes, he has mighty truth in his tongue,
Soothing the stings the stiff wasps bring, he laughs while being stung.
He joins our adventure, giving praise of plenty and being fairly fair,
I couldn't imagine my journey through life without him being there.

I have been so fortunate to find my scarecrow, tin man and lion,
To make it to the great wizard, that is our task, together we are tryin'
Three poets, so true in their personality will always walk with me.
Have a place in my heart, always play a part, making me see poetry,
A journey doesn't have to be alone, there is always a friend.
And they follow me to the wizard, and even then it's not the end.

We're off to see the wizard...the wonderful wizard of oz....

Date: October 16, 2015

Dorothy: (unnamed poet)
Toto: (unnamed poet)
Scarecrow: (Richard Lameroux)
Tin Man: (Lyric Man)
Cowardly Lion: (Arthur Vaso)
The Wizard: (We'll all meet him one day)

Copyright © Casarah Nance | Year Posted 2015