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Best Talent Poems

Below are the all-time best Talent poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of talent poems written by PoetrySoup members

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Skill and talent by Muitherero, Kennedy
Pink's Got Talent by Elharrak, Youssef
Recurring Dream 2 No talent by Atfield, William J. Jr.
The 'talent' gene by Ngoma, Thabang
ARTISTIC TALENT by Enriquez, Leon
CAN'T STOP TALENT by curtis futch jr, kurtis scott aka
Talent of Poetry by Smith, Holly
if i have talent by hammons, sandra
An Alphabet of Talent by bauer, ilene
The Gifted Talent by Martin, Aleasha

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The Best Talent Poems

Details | Talent Poem | |

Memoirs of a cancer survivor

In life, I have faced many trial and tribulations,
but I knew this would be the hardest one.
I can still remember that fateful day,
after scans, biopsies and tests, it was finally confirmed.

I didn't smoke, drink or suffer from stress, so how could this be,
even my doctors were totally bemused, you see.
At the peak of my health, strong fit and able,
yet a lump on my throat was the only telling sign.

I still remember when it was confirmed, stage 4 aggressive cancer,
on the base of my tongue, spread to my neck, throat and voice box.
The doctor looked at me, waiting for me to break down,
I showed little emotion, my mind told me, don't worry be strong.

My voice is my talent and I might lose it forever,
as I sat in the car, a little numb, everything was still.
I looked up to the sky and wondered why me?
I thought to myself, God, you sure have a funny sense of humour.

A 50/50 chance of life, for a moment or two, I did feel sorry for myself,
but just for a moment, as I knew I needed to be strong.
Cancer can be such a confusing thing, a horrid disease,
but they say 50% is in the head and you have to defeat your demons.

I kept it a secret for so long, its not easy telling someone,
all those around me broke down with its discovery.
I didn't want to show them I am weak, so I remained strong,
being strong was what I had been all my life and this would be no different.

I had so much to live for and I constantly told myself, your not going to die,
I had so much support from family and friends, it pulled me through.
however, no one really understood, I guess its difficult if you've not had it,
but it made me feel so lonely, so I just didn't discuss it and suffered alone.

The chemotherapy poisoned my whole body and left me weak,
I felt so vulnerable, stricken to a bed with no appetite or thirst.
I just lay there motionless, no energy to get up or walk,
wasting away slowly, thinking how is this a cure?

Then came the radiotherapy, wow, now that's something!
Burning away at my neck and mouth, slowly becoming more painful.
You can see your whole face and body changing, unrecognisable,
I was the pieces of the man I used to be, but I was not broken.

I constantly reminded myself, it will all be over soon,
that all pain is temporary and I will be fine.
Others never had so much faith, I could see in their faces,
when they looked at me they saw death.

Even when admitted into hospital, as I couldn't eat anything now,
one whole month, a peg in my stomach, and both arms on drips.
Everyday seemed to get harder and harder, but my mind remained strong,
not once did my mind think I had cancer, just a temporary illness.

Through all this time, not once did I breakdown or cry, not me, no, not I,
there were times when I felt so miserable and low, I forgot how to smile.
Sometimes I felt like I was falling into depression, into a dark twisted world,
but my mind kept me sane and kept me strong and slowly I began to smile.

So here I am, still alive and almost 100% today,
I know cancer will return again one day, i've won the battle, but not the war.
Its hard and its difficult, especially when your whole world is falling apart,
but remember worry ends when faith begins and everything will be all right.

1 Aug 2015

Copyright © Silent One

More great poems below...

Details | Talent Poem | |

March 19 Memories

Mama….it’s today
The chalendar shouts it
15 years breathed your last
and I still see you in dreams
and I still miss you, Mama

I’m sitting here
in front of the screen 
wondering….what it would be like
to see your smile again
wondering if you’d be proud of my work
I write, Mama
I write poetry
But you knew that
I wrote you many poems
and you loved my lines

You always believed in me
and you believed that one day
I’d make it as a writer
and you made me promise
to always sign my maiden name
after everything I write
so that the world would know
where the talent came from
you were so proud of me

I’m crying, Mama
I’m crying
I miss you so much
You made me who I am
I’m just another reflection of you
the woman
in love with words
in love with life
in love with people
in love with passion
the teacher
the well respected Bible scholar
the one with a caring heart whom
everyone adored...
the one with the ready smile

But MS had a hold on you
even before I came to be
and I had to witness
you succumbing to its power
It changed my happy dreams
into nightmares of losing you
Broken bones
I saw it all, Mama
As I was growing up…
I saw it all
And I died a million deaths
Waiting for the time that you would go
And you left, Mama
You left me

You prayed to go
to be free from your wheelchair
He heard…
He answered…
and you are asleep in Him now
waiting for the trumpet call
when you will be awaked from your slumber
your smile no longer crooked
your body no longer bent
your voice beautiful again...
how you mourned the loss of your voice, Mama
you will sing again…
you will run and dance
and pick flowers

I will be there, Mama
When you awake up..
I will be there to hold you and kiss you
and thank you for giving me life
and making me who I am
But for now…Mama,
I need to cry
I miss you…

March 19 is always a reminder
of what I’ve missed all these years
a mother beside me
to guide me and love me
and to tell me that everything 
everything is going to be Ok in the end
but I carry you in my heart
now and forever…

You are with me, Mama
I love you!
I'll see you on the other side!
where there will be no more death
no more crying or sickness or pain
no more MS!
only joy...
March 19 will be no more
Only eternity!!!!

Eileen Manassian Ghali

Isaiah 57: 1 & 2- The righteous perish,
    and no one takes it to heart;
the devout are taken away,
    and no one understands
that the righteous are taken away
    to be spared from evil.
2 Those who walk uprightly
    enter into peace;
    they find rest as they lie in death. 

Copyright © Eileen Manassian

Details | Talent Poem | |

Delusions of grandeur

As she sits upon her self proclaimed throne
placing an imaginary crown made from stone
Frail old woman - her hair bristly and grey
Yellow teeth - rotten and plagued with decay
No creativity - deluded with no talent to show
Fire in her eyes rages - envy begins to grow
A false impression of one's own importance
Has led to an existence of no real substance
Send them to the gallows for punishment!
but she is a dictator with atrocious judgement
Doctors say it's a mental illness with no cure
Doomed are those with delusions of grandeur
But, to her nobody stops to understand why
the reason her behaviour is so erratic and sly
Alone for so long - without a love to call her own
Only thing she wants is appreciation to be shown

The Silent One
19 October 2015

Copyright © Silent One

Details | Talent Poem | |

The Angel Inside

Coral life forms in copious swarms
feast in the Cambrian chyme,
dividing their cells and forming their shells
to end on the seafloor as lime.
Tectonic churning and magma upturning
renders marble whiter than bone.
The marble is mined, but the cutters are blind
to the angel confined in the stone.

A young sculptor arose, with a bend in his nose
and a transcendent creative spark,
charged with ambition to fulfill a commission,
an angel for St. Dominic's Ark.
An artist sublime who will live for all time,
his genius is to see things not shown.
For an angel to achieve he first has to perceive
its splendor enclosed in the stone.

At dawning's first glow he surveys the tableau
of the blocks the stone cutters supplied.
In some he sees dreams of potential themes,
but only one holds an angel inside.
“A beautiful thing never gives so much pain 
as does failing to hear it and see it.”
The block that he chose was rejected by those
who then lied and claimed to foresee it.
With talent and skill he falls to with a will,
surrounded by rubble and relic.
His method you see, for the angel to free
is to remove all the bits not angelic.
Michelangelo’s art for all time stands apart
but there's something further to heed.
For there's a bit more to the fine metaphor
in the tale of the angel he freed.

“A beautiful thing never gives so much pain 
as does failing to hear it and see it.”
For in all our insides a bright angel abides
and is just waiting for something to free it:
to remove all the parts which harden our hearts,
to chip out the darkness and pride,
to smooth the rough patches, to polish the scratches
and unshackle the angel inside.

© January 26, 2013

Copyright © Roy Jerden

Details | Talent Poem | |


Meeting my homegirls Wilma Neels
and Kim Van Breda with shrieks and squeals
hasty introductions and we're on our way
for a night of reading at Poetry Café

We've Yasmin to thank for arranging the meet
with fellow Soupers, a veritable treat
Yasmin the sneak had their names withheld
we're apprehensive yet still by curiosity propelled

My fingers are crossed to meet Eileen 
fave poetess mine, the Passionate Queen
dare I wish to meet hamsome Ryerson
not to mention Anne-Lise Andresen?

On first glance the café seems somewhat rowdy
from one of the corners a chorus of "Howdy!!!"
heaven help!!  I'm rooted to the spot
all my fave poets from the Souper pot

The Queen of Passion, my special friend
Eileen Ghali, an angel heaven-sent
with open arms and that beguiling smile
that's touched us all over thousands of miles 

I spot our Father Christmas, Jackie Ellison
Oh my, mercy me, the hamsome Tim Ryerson
then the beautiful being, Anne-Lise Andresen
and our pretty young doll, Anne Poetess Currin

Andrea, crack writer and popcorn freak
and Nette Onclaud, Madame Linguistics
the talented and sweet Leonora Galinta
oh, for a long time I've longed to meet her

There's the much-loved Reach-Out Lamoureux
a stylish gentleman, delighted to meet you
our very own Linda who happiness spreads
memorable the day as Brown Licia meets Red

He who writes poetry with a golden pen
bestest, fantasticest, hamsomest friend
Rich-Heart Seal-ed Door, my bruv from abroad
by his smile I'm bowled over;  by his charm I am awed 

I'm jumping with joy at my fave poets meet
befuddled, bewildered;  who first to greet?
midst the mountain of talent I'm on a positive high
overwhelmed, I simply break down and cry

This one needs a whole lot of polishing and smoothing 
out, but I was too excited to submit it.  I'll iron out the 
crinkles soon.  LOVE TO YOU ALL, LICIA <3 <3 <3 <3

Copyright © delysia hendricks

Details | Talent Poem | |

A Crown of Thorns

Insanity has its own wellspring and demise.
There is no better place to hide than between coils
of convoluted grey-white matter which can't recoil.
Mind has no leering lips to scorn or show surprise 
as ungoverned, the ancient demon-dancers rise.
The traitorous bits, which cut with Brutus’ red fang,
have no regard for the womb from which they sprang.
They seek dominion; they care not for your cries.
Crazed, their freedom paid for on the rack, how they sang
of anything, of windigos’, and warriors winged 
of fresh flesh beneath a gibbous moon's harangue, 
where those in sanity beneath their blankets cringed.
Night terrors sweat the sheets of the weak, as fear sprang,
a ripened, musky-scent arose from those unhinged.
A ripened, musky-scent arose from those unhinged
cloaked in mirrored, morose, magic; the mind a foil,
the heart, the soul, the sunny days, caste down, embroiled; 
destined to languish convulsed in the depth of coil.
Brightness, so dimmed, is lost within a rancid soil,
left to meet horned demons all but unarmed, alone, 
no company except the mirrored self-entombed,
no bliss state, no ripening sweetness to uncoil
a compost heap of bitter memories, atone ...
atone, little mother, well-used wife, wander now,
seeking ever seeking, yet finding no one home,
insanity wakened, waits, patiently endows ... 
empty days and nights, the infrequent sound of om,
cuddling the traitorous bits, shooing brighter dreams roused.
Cuddling the traitorous bits, shooing brighter dreams roused,
the teeth of dogged night rise-up, they breed turmoil.
Deep within the sleeping mind of men, sorrows roil.
Abandonment, disloyalty, hatred espoused,
all shriek to the traitor, the night arouses. 
Niggardly night, loath to lose ground within the dome
of blanched white, gray matter, within this skull of bone,
delights in the sorrowful detail night houses.
Insanity licks raw the salted wound entombed, owned.
"What could we be?" the ego cries to he or she.
"What would we be?" the windigo screams but, “alone.”
On, on, they chatter in the carapace, they breed, 
spreading dark matter, for they've no chaperone,
no friend to stay the brutal cousins, so mislead. 

No friend to stay the brutal cousins so mislead,
so in darkness, fear and hatred spread on fertile soil.
Yet, self-hatred shields its sharpened claws, as day uncoils
filling the breach with bright creations, dark concedes, 
and dims the room while manic laughter recedes.
A sunrise bows through prism-glass and colors swell
a lighter laughter comes, newborn to dwell.
Hands that once drew only blood, now tune bent reeds                        
of green, blades of springtime grass within the dell;
where larks sing and long lost lovers dare to reunite, 
no mention made of darkness or the depth of hell,
for sanity has cast a lighter stage this night.                       
Daybreak suspends the demon-dance upon the fell,
now, fairies prance in pastures high, and verse delights.
Now, fairies prance in meadows high, and verse delights
her fancy takes a softer turn at his behest,
with buttercups, in a Fairy Ring, they coalesce,
and shine the golden glow beneath a chin of white.
With the talent of a troubadour, love does strum
upon desire's strings the raging beast is culled
as coy love songs and  sweet lullabies emerge from
the hidden depths of mind where sanity is mulled.
With the talent of a troubadour love does strum
upon strings of desire the fearful beasts are culled 
as coy love songs and sweet lullabies emerge from
the stygian depth where her frail sanity is mulled.
How long will harmony dance to love's blissful hum
Will dark's whine wake, disturb, insanity so lulled? 
Will dark's whine wake, disturb, insanity so lulled? 
A scent of jasmine fills the air with swarming gnats.
Her covered ears belay the sound of feral cats
yet, huddled in his sheltering arms, her pain is dulled.
Dulled, but not waylaid, raging, she becomes unglued
She starts to rock, to whimper, and then, cry out- loud
begging for the dev'lish tide to leave, as he vowed,
renting strands of flaxen hair from her small skull.
Torn, he watches as she fades within a shroud,
a witless waif, bedeviled by the harvest moon.
He had to leave; he could not stay beneath this cloud
ever waiting for this, her omnipresent doom.
His love had its limits and yet, he was not proud,
Oh, he could not stay and watch her be consumed.


Oh no, he could not stay and watch her be consumed,
to have his pleasant memories of ardor's bloom
be marred by images of her so poorly groomed. 
No, never would he stay to see her be consumed.
One morn he left, his sum was not what she'd presumed. 
And, she sat in the rocker by the door unfazed,
her bowed lips o'er cast and her eyes o'er glazed, 
alive, but not, her nascent sanity entombed.
Death had come, death of the mind, his metal now assayed
he ran from old memories, as each thought enticed.
Their first tryst 'neath jasmine vines vanished in a haze.
Was love's reward, a sweet repast, mania's disguise?
Would true love have held the course where sanity betrayed,
insanity has its own wellspring, and demise.

First Published Five Poetry Magazine 2014

Copyright © Debbie Guzzi

Details | Talent Poem | |

Sharon Weimer

Though we’ve never met 
I comprehend your beautiful words
I feel your pleasant persona
Never a mean word to be said
I ache from your kindness 
Making others feel ten feet tall 
Picking me up when I may fall 
Talent beyond compare 
Are you brunette or fair?
But that wouldn’t matter to me 
If I never had the chance to see you face to face 
Your wonderful personality I could never forget 
You’ve help build a community of friends 
Steady and true
I wish you peaceful skies of cobalt blue 
Fields of flowers brushed in rainbow colors 
I pray for love from God above 
For you and your family beloved 
Know that you touched lives that may not have been touched 
You changed someone 
And brought me a new reason to write 
You’re an inspiration and a friend 
And you’ve touched my heart polite 
Gratitude pours forth  

Written for and about Sharon Weimer !

Copyright © Laura Mckenzie

Details | Talent Poem | |


A poem in honour of a lovely lady named Jan,
She writes poetry but was never sure about her talent.
She didn't think that she could do it 
but now she knows she can.
I wanted her to embrace poetry 
and learn to have faith in herself,
to write and show her work,
not just to leave it on the shelf.
She's in her element now she shares,
in her words it shows she cares.
Her feet barely touching the ground,
The bonus too, is undoubtably,
the great friendships that she's found.
It's truly wonderful to see my friend 
stretching out her wings
and enjoying all the benefits
sharing her poetry brings.

Copyright © Jenny brewer

Details | Talent Poem | |

Marionette Master

~Marionette Master~    

All my dreams evolve around my wooden floor
Candles and clowns the show must go on


The Moon slowly moves its way into my room
Dust pushes through my window making shadow puppets on my walls
The talent on my walls dance, scaring my sweet dreams away
No cradle-songs tonight
Dangling artisans’ fingertips scratching down my core
Exquisite observation, an alley down “Death Street.”
Panic rattles my bone, 
Stuttering a taste of ma' ma' ma' mama' off my lips
Grandfather clock ticks with every pull of the string
Invisible jellyfish puppets swaying their feelers that sting my site
A superior skill eating away at my fear
I can’t breathe, 
I can’t move,
It dangles!
What can I do?
Carved Marionette figures locked in my head
A game in which trickery and deception are the main events
Staged with an evil sinister mask, sanctioning my nightmares. 
No one to rescue me from the danger of this bedside playground.
The puppeteer engages to provoke me with my own dolls.
A dramatic performance throttles my mind ……. 
I cannot come out from under my blanket,  
I cannot run,
My hands cannot reach the circus print lampshades!
A shadow show played in slow motion!!!
Realizing the moon can pull a world of strings with its own light


Suddenly, boney fingers from the sunrise show me the way…
I look down until my toes touch the cold wooden floor
I creep and creep,
Then I flick on my lamp.
The purple walls swallowed the orgy drawing inspired by the mooned night
A huge diversity of graphic illusions of puppetry in my room vanishes in one click
Mother please no more Pinocchio in my lullabies! ;-) 

Copyright © Poet Destroyer A

Details | Talent Poem | |

The Poet

THE POET’S PANEGYRIC “There’s someone I knew with talent unleashed and a heart that had for so many relentlessly reached This poet sought inspiration from the living and the dead But I can tell you this about the poet who has moved me by what this poet had ever said I read the words from a comfort zone which this poet created, surrounded by friends or by foes or simply alone” His essence of soul sweeps down deserted dead streets where the thunder still crackles, the burial bell bleats He laughed at himself as a Royal Rhymester Clown but bore the black pains of those all aroun’, He echoed regrets but never a grudge ... of this I’ll say little... let his lines be the judge THE POET’S PEN Blind shots cry out beneath the night, a car is cruising by. A stripling’s blood streams words to write ... Wry rhymes to ask us why A silly girl with child, unwed... to many, but a slut. The baby at her breast is dead ... Cruel couplets meant to cut A drifter, broken, cast aside, lies lifeless in the cold. Tap tattoos on a tattered hide ... Some scarlet stanzas scold Two lovers clutch a turtledove, enraptured by her coo, impaled on pangs of Ladylove ... A sultry song for two A drone of drums in distant wars beguiling bold dragoons who sell their souls like wanton whores ... Raw rhythms writ in runes The stars ablaze, like tiger-eyes reflecting candlelight, ’lume angels singing Lullabys ... A sonnet stuns the night The soulless eyes of shackled slaves drip tears that burn and blur. Their ash, like dust, set free in graves ... Emblazing ballads stir A hurricane, foretold, unfurled, unravels mystic signs as Demons dance, destroy the World ... Limned lurid lyric lines Some die a death neath hangmen’s hands where tainted justice reigns for ‘thou shalt kill’, Revenge commands ... A quiet quatrain pains While well-to-dos amass and flaunt And follow fashion’s trends, pale children starve and die of want ... And so an epic ends THE POET’S EPITAPH His words lie strewn along the sand While breakers wash ashore The ripples weave designs unplanned ... a verse forevermore His tales, entwined in cryptic airs where freedom seeds are blown, warn Guarders of the Realm ‘beware’ ... his heresy is sown His life outlined a chronicle along a lonesome road It started out as doggerel ... and ended as an ode
With a little help from my extremely talented, but somewhat modest, friend “ANON” AKA JC... Thanks JC, for the depth of your support and your breath of inspiration...

Copyright © Terry O'Leary

Details | Talent Poem | |

Jukebox Gigolo

Old Zack Adams sits a slouch’n so sloppy drunk on a bar-room stool,
Wear’n his cheap-threaded cowboy suit and a stained satin shirt.
All the while a peek’n and a leer’n at women like an old poor fool,
But think’n man tonight—Oh Boy, I’m really gonna hit the pay dirt!

Old Zack in this small Texas town is reputed to be quite a lecherous hoot,
As he raucously and recklessly rolls old worn quarters into the slot
Of the old bar-room Wurlitzer while snicker’n and smil’n to boot,
And plays his tearful and twangy jerk-water music while smil’n a lot!

Old Zack is this town’s “Jukebox Gigolo,” a real lover boy—Oh Boy!
He wears his patched cowboy hat and his scuffed silver-studded boots,
Meant to impress young girls and bar-fly floozies who have the Joy!
Of being with this bewildering, withered, weathered man and his boots.

Old Zack has a fad’n recollection of events and a silver mane of hair,
With a cigarette in his hand and cuss’n like a nasty little stable boy,
He downs whiskey shots and tequila seconds like no tomorrow on a dare,
While chas’n whiskey glass ice cubes and the tequila worm—being so coy.

Old Zack while a swigg’n down his whiskey mucho fast and direct,
He has now that blind courage to fight or to love—whichever is first, 
While the old Wurlitzer resonates a rueful hick song for a teary effect,
But Old Zack can’t move now for this song has him sobb’n the very worst.

Old Zack with his nicotine-whiskey breath and his pockmarked face,
Personifies the image of an ideal loser of a man—with problems all,
While fight’n, scream’n, and punch’n others to gain some precious space,
He’s a showcas’n his reservoir of manly prowess—with problems all.

Old Zack was young once and not so wild, withered, weathered like now,
And he thought he was a really smart dude—all right moves and all,
But was really a man act’n far above his funny fake smart brow, 
And now a cry’n on his bar-room stool and act’n like a fool before a fall.

Old Zack Adams—alcoholic as he truly is and sly and slick as a Texas fox,
Is not really so good with his women friends nowadays—for his real talent
Is in roll’n those old worn quarters pieces one-by-one into the old Jukebox,
Sing’n—“I’m the Jukebox Gigolo”—“a Drunk and a Delight,” that’s real talent!

Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved (October 7, 2014)
(Rhymed Quatrain)

Copyright © Gary Bateman

Details | Talent Poem | |


Locked high in the tower the Princess did cry No school for her that was the golden rule The King allowed her one pastime - she could sing She would retreat to her chamber whenever she could Her eyes sparkled with intelligence; singing was her prize She’s so blessed with talent, confined in the chateau Great inner strength inside made her such a winner Her voice, so light and beautiful, made her rejoice She shines like a precious gem despite her confines 02~01~15 Contest: Plucky two by Nine – ‘Cryptic Rose’ 2nd and 9th words to rhyme Words to be used:- Princess, school King, retreat, Intelligence, blessed, strength, light, gem ~awarded 1st place~

Copyright © JAN ALLISON

Details | Talent Poem | |

Salieri Soliloquy

You give me the desire
a love for composing 
word symphonies
yet you give me
the cross of mediocrity
to bear
day by day to know
there are others 
who are prodigies
and I must hear 
the thunderous applause
while at best
I get the praise
of those who seek to console
my dying soul
I must eat my heart alive
while the words burn inside
demanding expression
soul confession
unborn masterpiece extrication

I fall to my knees
and plead
While I beat my chest
in fervent heat
"Bless me...Bless me...
Make me like him
Make me like her
Make me more than all of these
Make me the best
a word genius
For this love of words will not set me free
Till it is MY name that they chant
My name on their tongues
My name branded on their minds
the Maestro of Word symphonies
Oh, Let it be ME, ME!

day after day
night after night
and in my dreams
I see, I see....
I see them take their bows
I see their work showcased
while I?
I sit at my desk
and try once more
to write
the sublime....


The movie Amadeus rocked my to the core. "In it, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart was killed by his jealous rival, the court composer Antonio Salieri. Salieri cleverly took advantage of Mozart's fondness for drink, his financial crisis, and his obsession with pleasing his deceased father, and tricked Mozart into working himself to death."

Murry Abraham did a wonderful job of portraying Salieri. There is a scene where he argues with God about the wonderful musical talent he has gifted Mozart, who seems undeserving to him, while HE has to live with mediocrity in musical talent. I can relate. I LOVE poetry. It is my life, and yet...I have to watch as others write so effortlessly and reach the pinnacle of fame. It is hard to do. :( Some days are better than others. On the good days, I'm happy that I can write a poem now and again. On the bad days....I want to cry for not being another Shakespeare....or Donne, or Dickinson, or Gibran, or Rumi, or....and the list is endless. 

Copyright © Eileen Manassian

Details | Talent Poem | |


The mystery of a night sky
Moonlit and starstruck 
I peered over your shoulder
Masterpiece was taking shape
You turned and smiled
And I was instantly taken 
I'd never met anyone like you
Relaxed, yet intensely skilled
Your talent a ceaseless fountain
In humility, you asked my thoughts
I buried my inhibitions that night
I told you that you fascinate me
That I was awed by your beauty
That I wished you were my girl
Finally, you interrupted me
And said, "I meant about my art"
Oh my, I was deeply embarrassed
I quickly said, "It's so amazing!!!"
I was trying to think of more
When you leaned in and kissed me
Our first of so many moments
Some awkward, most glorious 
The mystery of a night sky



Details | Talent Poem | |

Poetry Soup Heroes

When I first came to this site you
made me feel so welcome. Every-
thing you told me was so encourag-
ging and positive. You became a
great friend and you appreciated my
art. At times when I was feeling down 
for whatever reason I knew I could turn 
to you. And you know why you're so 
awesome? Because you have gift
for making everyone feel special.Your
amazing lyrics of love and positivity mean
a lot to me.I will forever cherish your
friendship and doesn't matter where you are.

When I first saw your first avatar I thought to 
myself this is interesting and
strange. But I will always remember the
day you befriended me through a soup mail. 
From that day on I saw a remarkable person 
unfold before me. Your talent is outstanding!
You pursue friendships and you're very 
encouraging. The things you went through
in your life has made you very strong and
courgeous. When you love you love hard 
because you know what's it's like to feel 
unloved. l really admire you and I appreciate 
your friendship.You will always be a 
distinguished gentleman to me.

You move me by the things you write on
a page. Poetry comes alive by your pen
you have an amazing gift. I admire
so much. I'm constantly in awe of you.
You are so down to earth and very funny.
Do you know that you're a poetical genius? 
(and one of my favorite poets).
I view you as a friend and a
mentor (I hope you don't mind). 
You know that special person you have in
your life that you don't talk to that often?
But that friendship bond is established 
and you know that you can count on them?
That's who you are to me. 

My Three Soup Heroes

The Lyric
Silent One
Arthur Vaso

Contest: Soup Heroes
Sponsor: Catie Lindsey

Copyright © Alexis Y.

Details | Talent Poem | |

The Soup Reich

The Fuhrer's deceit is baked with OCD tendencies,
one hand doling it out to the masses,
while the other hand places more checkpoints
along the already tightly surveilled perimeter.

The Fuhrer's Souper Troopers, Gestapo and Souparazzi
scour the Soup halls for any anomalies,
for any Resistance Fighters of literature
who might distract the masses' attention

away from the Fuhrer's spotlight. And there! Hark
the Herald Demons, the Head Pig pounds the podium,
refocuses the little piggies' minutely distracted attention
with tales of fearful monsters, uniting the crowd

against a common enemy. 

Divide the mind, to conquer it. "Divide and Conquer,"
whisper the Fuhrer's elite henchmen
as they send-out another wave of soupmail propaganda,
while running fingers across the mustaches dangling

from their rat-faces like miniature toupees meant for 
the now-aged Ken dolls stricken with cancer from eating 
too many GMO Swastika corn-dogs and Huns.burger Helper --
cannibalistic swine eating their own kind. "Sieg Heil!" 

The little piggies devour Swastika slop from their troughs:
big lies broken down, fed to them over time
until they squeal dolefully, piggies wrapped in blankets
waiting for another bribed lullaby to help them fall asleep.

Poor little piggies. Believing themselves to have no talent
of their own, they ride on the barbeque sauce coat tails of a 
one-trick pony-pig Fuhrer -- selling short their own deserved
spotlight to a fugazi masquerading as a 24 Carat saint.

July 22nd, 2013


"Take the greatest deceits, decorate them with gold and hand them out as gifts. 
When the masses have swallowed the contents, you can make these people 
believe and do anything." - Adolf Hitler
 "The more we do to you, the less you seem to believe we are doing it."
- Dr. Joseph Mengele

"The most common characteristic of all police states, is intimidation by surveillance. Citizens know they are being watched and overheard. Their mail is being examined. Their homes can be invaded. When citizens alter their natural conduct via the fear of being watched, truth becomes suppressed when public discussion turns into whispers." - Vance Packard

"To silence satire, is to silence freedom." - Sidney Hook

“The true essence of a dictatorship is in fact not its regularity, but its unpredictability and caprice; those who live under it must never be able to relax, must never be quite sure if they have followed the rules correctly or not.” 
- Christopher Hitchens, Hitch-22: A Memoir

“The first truth is that the liberty of a democracy is not safe if the people tolerate the growth of private power to a point where it becomes stronger than their democratic state itself. That, in its essence, is fascism -- ownership of government by an individual, by a group, or by any other controlling private power." 
- Franklin D. Roosevelt

*Author's Note: This satire does not involve the TPS administration.


Copyright © Chris D. Aechtner

Details | Talent Poem | |



Gifts are what matter the most.
Where's the talent without its host?
Where's the paper without the pen?
What is repetition without doing again? 
Where's the car without its driver?
Where's the home without the family?
Where's hope without faith?
Where's the song without the singer?
Where's the vocalist without the musician?
Where's the tune without the melody?
Where are the words without the lyrics?
Where's the music without the instrument?
Where's the orchestra without the conductor?
Where's the production without the producer?

Where's the tree without its root?
Where's the branch without the tree?
Where are the leaves without the branches?
Where are the flowers without their stems?
Where are the petals without the flower?

Where is spring without its showers?
Where is summer without heat?
Where is winter without the cold?
Where is autumn without the breeze?

Where is love without passion?
Where is affection without attraction?
Where is deed without action?

What is math without its equations?
What is a word without persuasion?
Where's a sign without indication?

Where's the line without a starting point?
What are bones without their joints?
What is a body without chemistry?

Everything has a gift.
Everything has a function.
These things work together in perfect conjunction.
Gifts, yes indeed, gifts.

Copyright © Princess Poetry

Details | Talent Poem | |

Insomnia (To Tom)

                        Insomnia drifting 
                        from fears to phobias
                        towards sunset 

                        I used to wine and dine her
                        now, Rosie can't stop:
                        her constant and succulent Tid-Bits 
                        transform our kitchen into her sanctuary
                        Moon shines on her cellulite 
                        like lunar craters
                        for eventual wormholes 
                        inertia under the spandex boxer shorts

                        Insomnia drifting 
                        from fears to phobias
                        towards memories

                        ...with my lost friends in Dire Straits gig 
                        yelling "money for nothing"
                        the abusive police sharing pain
                        and the blood in the white shirts
                        when we sold the Hammond for medicine

                        Insomnia drifting 
                        from fears to phobias
                        towards nothing

                        The mute T.V. and the World I didn't change
                        skipping, switching, zapping 
                        the vacuum salesmen
                        the nuclear waste in a poor country
                        the UFO convention
                        American Idol, America got Talent, 
                        and the stupidity of strange feelings
                        Coke, Trojan, Toyota...
                        Listerine soaked tissue
                        to kill the germs that cause bad words
                        dirt and death
                        order and death
                        votes and death
                        power and death
                        control and death
                        politics and death
                        selfishness and death
                                                      manipulating my sleep


Copyright © Ruben O.

Details | Talent Poem | |

I am bored with Poetrysoup

I am bored with Poetrysoup

Premier Poetry website rekindled my poetic talent 
Veterans loved my work and inspired to showcase talent
But soon got entangled in Members Contest
Contests more of mutual admiration club than talent hunt
One Premium Member placing other high on winners list
Ordinary Members often accomodated below Glory list      

Poetrysoup Members Contest rules needs revision
Premium Membership based on fees not on merits and contribution   
Novice at times get chance to judge veteran 
And post three poems in Poetrysoup Contest tilting fair play condition
Rules need revision, Premium Membership should be criteria driven
Either based on 25 Top Ten wins or upon posting of 150 poems  
Top 50 of Poetrysoup Contest should conduct contests and groom 

Though bored yet good platform of poetic expression is Poetrysoup  


By Hitendra Mehta
April 2011

Placed 7th in Members Contest - I am bored with______ by Linda Marie 


P.S - Its not intended to offend the Premium Members. Few of them have 
really supported me and loved my visuals and flow. The idea is to make
this platform more stronger and meritorious to groom real talent.
Winning Top Ten and accumulating marks is okay but ultimate gratification
lies in showcasing the visuals with seamless flow of theme and packaging
same in adorable poetic forms.

Ventured this caustic one hoping that it will bring about positive changes.


Copyright © Hitendra Mehta

Details | Talent Poem | |

Chunky Charlie

A Special Poem for Will Helppi A really fat cat named Chunky Charlie From a town called Licketysplit Corner Was renowned for a very interesting talent As a world famous circus performer His extra poundage added to the spectacle People thought it was really appealing They giggled to see him jiggle while juggling Six tennis balls as he was kneeling A pretty little kitty called Cuddly Cathie Winked at him while watching him juggle So trying to concentrate on his performance He found it to be quite a struggle In fact, near the end of Charlie's performance Balls flew off in every direction One ended up in the lap of Cuddly Cathie He approached her with a very red complexion He stuttered and stammered trying to apologize Her beauty made him literally tongue tied Instead of an apology these words stumbled out "Will you be my pretty kitty cat bride?" Not a moment went by, Cuddle Cathie replied "Yes oh yes, I'll be your blushing bride" Dear Charlie could hardly contain his emotions He was absolutely brimming with pride The moral of this tale is really quite obvious Perseverance pays off sooner or later You should never give up when reaching for a star The rewards will never be greater!

Copyright © Jack Ellison

Details | Talent Poem | |



I reached up far to touch a star.
It only took a second.
I thought I heard a salient call 
alas it did not beckon.

While looking for an artful craft
and finding none; the time blew past
I looked toward the heaven's stars
for talents that could break these bars 

Like thickened paint on canvass fashion
Mixed with rich excitant passion 
From Starry Night to sheer delight
but never wrong and never right.

Should I envy those with deep affection
with skills that move in-synced direction
for passions born into their soul
to define their purpose-- take control.

Athletic prowess, artistic flavor, 
a builders trade, a science major,
musicians joy and mountaineer
for all of those we stop and cheer
and think if we could only be
but they are they and we are we.

Somewhere, somewhere deep inside
are struggles there we cannot hide
doubts and fears that suck the joy
from life's sweet gifts; a noxious ploy
of destiny failing in an attempt
to re-discover a lost lament.

CAK  12-2-2012

Sometimes, I find myself lamenting
that I do not possess an 
exceptional skill or talent. It seems
many people find great joy from theirs.
It seems to gnaw at my being and
I grow sorrowful that somehow
I am missing something.

Copyright © Allan Koven

Details | Talent Poem | |



A miracle in waiting my friend you are
Possible it is all you wish to achieve 

Use God’s planted talent in your soul 
He is expecting you, His gift to retrieve! 

© Demetrios Trifiatis
    06 January 2015 

Copyright © Demetrios Trifiatis

Details | Talent Poem | |



When will periwinkle dreams entwine with my lifesong?
  deadly winter has blanket me? [Long, ah! so long...]
Has bloody ferns swirl then froze me as falling snow
  for acrid critiques cold cloud? [T'was wrong, Oh so wrong...]

Doubts and worries weaken my weary feet
  but teeming catalysts from a compassionate God
    activate talent embers, once frozen to heat--
telling: "TRUST, GO AND START!", an alarm from above.

Bearing a faith anew, I spread my wings to fly;
  walking even over blitz agonizing talk for ply.
Cracking myself from iceberg of fears--
  twining myself to God's glory, a clear dear!

Braiding faith and hardwork in cornerstone steel,
  spirits shoot hope that guards, a powerful feel.
Unfolding gifts from long frozen hearts to burn,
  now mightily restored with heaven's love way turn...

August 22, 2014

Copyright © Olive Eloisa Guillermo

Details | Talent Poem | |

And The Piper Played On

 And The Piper Played On

The mystic piper paid his earthly dues
 strange tunes he did so often choose
 Notes that ring so loud and so clear
 wiping away doubt and darkened fear

 Yet each found this a false delight
 shadows that lurched in evil night
 Music set to lowly goals and greed
 easing pains from a desperate need

 Dancing in a deepened hollow ring
 woes trailed all that shout and sing
 Piper plays on in his standard way
 as his victims spin and gaze far away

 Stars spin away so very far, far above
 this world needs more, always more love

Robert J. Lindley

note: Inspired by the words of a fellow poet here. Such inspiration is in great abundance here as this site offers the writings of so very many talented artists!
I am humbled to read such poetry and any subject can find inspiration from the tremendous number of offerings presented here each day! From seasoned poet to newbie the talent here is simply amazing..

Copyright © Robert Lindley

Details | Talent Poem | |

I'll cry tomorrow

Sitting dying alone,
In this dark and dingy place 
It has now become my home..
The only open bar 
In town, I needed something to heal my broken heart
I'm on my 8th round, Going on Nine now!

Swaying on this broken bar stool
As the bartender shouts 
his “last call”, As I'm looking down
and this shuffled ground
As I try a re step my footsteps home
Walking them back In my head
But I'm a stumbling mess

My heart feels like shattering glass
I'm slowly breaking,
Sink-in, Drown-in in the dark-nest
I'm Gasp-in, For breath, Each one Hard-er
than the next!
While the whole world around me are breathing
Fine, I'm falling back into the abyss, 
Broken heart-ed 
This vodka has cut my skin so deep
This broken glass with it's hard edges
Digging, Silting into me
Tho some of my pain was self inflicting 
My heart's beat, is barely beating
That's why I'm drinking
This gin 
Now swallowed, why cant I
swallow my pride With
Dignity, I'm openly seeking darkness 
I'm sorry farther “For I have sinned”
Those sin's I've harbored
Now my hollowed soul's giving In
To that darkness....

My body trembling ,The outcome's looking bleak
I've become so weak
Shaking knees, I can barely stand up
My eye's become teary 
They say its this alcohol that's depressing me
But it's soon becoming my dependency
I'm finding hard to leave it be, I'm hooked....
...To a drip, Anything so I can get my fix
It’s another chapter I've my book
That''s needs to be ripped, Apart
Because I'm hiding be-hide a mask
My face is smiling but inside my heart is scared..

I'm writing this at night 
I'm tired... but my mind's racing fast
while my eyes are wide shut
I'm Trying to sleep..but my mind's
Not giving up..whilst
I'm lying on my friends sofa
I'm unable to get up
Morning rises but I'm slowly dying..

I'm hung over
Pondering on my life and wondering
what it would be like being sober
How can I achieve anything in life
When my only motivation is getting high
And the other half of the time
I'm crying inside 
Too depressed to write
But I wipe my tears 
But I'm still here, On my bar stool from 9 to 5!

The same broken record playing
Saying “I'm going to quit” But I'm not facing
My problems to begin with, I need a Fixative
I'm not telling myself I got a problem to be able to fix it!
Sitting here, Ripping the label off this toxic beer, bottle
I can't look at look at this mirror and face him!
Face it you hit rock bottom...
I cant believe what I have become
I wake up drunk
Where will I end up?
As I look along, A sedimentary I come a pone, A grave with my name above...

As the bar door's are now closing
My heart's ripped open Soaking
In pure emotion
Bartender “Give me two more shots”
And ill mend my way's
Not before a quick pit stop 
To get more drink from this shop
Because I'm getting sick of these sad song's that play
From the broken jukebox!
Or this it me?
And my pain that's eternal bleeding
Thinking that every sad song is talking to me?
I'm leaving.. 

Because I'm lonely
I wonder if anyone get's me?
The feeling of looking back hopelessly
At the bottom of the vodka bottle
Describing my feelings of feeling empty!
I've been here before so it can't be rock bottom

The only thing I adore 
Is my trusty red Pen that's my Savior 
It's a's my blood, That's in its ink
When it hit's the paper
It's that pain, I'm writing with!
Because that inspiration's bleeds through my veins
Just for me to scribble to words on this page
Just so I can throw them away!
Because I think anything I ever do 
Is not good enough for you..
Maybe I should do, More before I get taken away
Maybe if that ambulance had been late
I wouldn't been standing here today
But I still cant make that change

Because My vision, Impaired by the flashing lights 
Of that ambulance
So If I die, today 
At least they couldn't say 
He was just an addict
Who abused his talent...

But I'm still here I tried To drown My 
But I'm Drowning In tear's That I'll cry 

Copyright © Jamie Walker