A bully found within—
always the one wronged,
going to great lengths
to communicate your offence
at things so trivial.
You are the ironic
definition of the humdudgeon!
Almost obsolete in the dictionary
and modern use.
When you were needed most,
you were gone.
Written: September 22, 2026 for a contest sponsored by: Line Gauthier
**********
Crimson grief coils, a choir sneaks at night,
I’ll stand at your side, unhurried, till first light.
Should stories dissolve as twilight looms,
I hold each word; silence cannot exhume.
Where the twisting road may veer,
I will endure tenaciously, I swear.
Light evanesced upon his leaving
with the final choke of dusk--
the fragrance of orchids wisping softly
and I shiver...vapid, empty
clouds swallowing the kiln of lamppost-
and into the restless clang
from winds booming,
the dirge of hummingbirds stutters
which makes noises louder
than my groans-- the ceiling of sky
breaking like splinters of glass-
and among incandescent stars,
our distant, intermittent rendezvous
withers as my peppered tears grate
the bitter tincture of night's burial
from all his trespasses,
a body language
coiled in stale cocoon...his words
barbed as jailed verses ...
unuttered ,unsaid.
So excited to see you
Hadn't been together in years
You got on with your life
While I survived all the tears
Can't believe it took a crisis
To bring obligation to the top
Never any need to connect
Until a hero was needed to manage the loss
You suddenly appeared like rain
After the grass was scorched and brown
No amount of help could be given
To rescue the old wedding gown
There came a moment of talking
I was sure your heart would open wide
The moment the words left my mouth
Your harsh tone widened the divide
...and I could hear....."JUST DON"T SPEAK"
my heart cries...it's over
Written by Trudy Schrader on 09-21-2026
Dreams
camouflage time
in the magic
of sleep
Taking
us inward
with messages
deep
Dreams
are a bridge
crossing
into the light
Where words
become tokens
of eternal
— delight
(Dreamsleep: September, 2026)
As it occurred he always had the last word.
Even when absurd was that word.
Once we thought we heard the last word,
But, as it occurred he always had the last word.
Not the first, second or the third word
Not muffled or blurred was the word
Not from a little bird came the word
As it occurred he always had the last word.
Not translated or transferred was the word
Not implied or inferred was the word
Never repeated or recurred the same word
As it occurred he always had the last word.
Word.
A
Waste of time
Give it time
Time cures
I've no time..
Triggers the
Seeking for
A right time
Around the corner
Down the road
Someday
Home at last
Apocalypse..
You can definitely not write for too long.
Words are weaving around a stand still.
That stands still like a sidewalk crack.
They burrow.
Road smudges.
The other universe doesn’t go away.
It just gets sealed in pipes.
And we hear the pipes creak.
You can definitely not write for too long.
What’s worst is that you don’t forget how to write.
But when you grab a pen or pencil?
You feel the temperature creaking.
Words get torn down.
An empty wasp nest of a head.
Awaking from sleep
And rising from bed,
Not with the sweet
Fragrance of roses,
But with the aroma
Of four rhyming words.
Their symphony produced
A harmony as the smooth flow
of leaves from trees when being
Blown by the gentle winds of Autumn.
Ages, Places, Faces, and Pages.
I ask myself, "What be the meaning?"
With regards to 'Ages', it occurred to me
That my 18th birthday found me in a new
'Place', one of much renoune that I had
Never been. My 18th birthday found me
Turning new 'Pages' in college books.
My 18th birthday found me turning away
From familiar 'Faces' to new ones, and
Preparing me for new stories never written.
At the age of 18, my life had become ripe for
A new phase, and a new stage had been
set before me. Ready or not, life demands
That we move forward and take the next step.
Where did your 18th birthday find you?
When Post-modernists say race or gender
Is a social construct,
They’re not really saying anything
Other than we don’t like your definitions.
Since race and gender are words
Based on conceptual classifications
They are no different than any other words.
In this way everything is a social construct
Depending on the world view of the society.
The difference in animate and inanimate?
Just a social construct.
The difference in plant and animal?
Just a social construct.
The difference in positive and negative,
Black and white, good and evil, up and down
Me and you? Just a social construct.
We live in a world of such constructs,
They allow us to function
And manipulate this world.
And yes, that includes manipulating others
If you are so inclined.
Who doesn’t live in such a distinct
And discriminating world?
The new born infant at the portal of life,
And the mentally dementiaed at the edge of death.
The rest of us, are thank goodness,
Somewhere in between.
(9/19/26)
Unbounded
A boggling thought
Which may toggle
Not-knowing
In the character
Bound in a story
Like this one..
_______________
(PoetrySoup Format)
_______________
in the pause
— beauty is still,
and as moments gently move
embracing the rush . . .
the air holds a soft h u s h.
in gentle breaths
words wait to whisper—
a timeless melody we know . . .
the closeness of
forever love.
lingering in the calm
creates a longing for
a tender touch,
and— a delicate
echo
____________________________
~ safe in the space and feeling you close ~
movements in space marked by time
is the stage where’s birthed a rhyme
and wherein dream forms shape shift
which heart tends to sieve and sift
desire mirrors aversion
becoming our perversion
but turning inward our glance
makes erect our soul’s stooped stance
when light chose to crystallise
it began to weigh and size
yet cessation holds the key
to be in this instant free
when there be no ownership
no doer then does worship
whence consciousness as pure light
is awash in bliss delight
we’re the light we sought to seek
so plugging energy leak
ego dies and we reclaim
flame of bliss that has no name
It seems
At least to me
That…..they
Are always there
Hidden in those instants
Wherein I lose my focus
Drift into “un-thinking”
Move without my own consent
Call ‘em what you will
Imps, trolls, the Billy goats Gruff
A synaptic surfer
Washed ashore
Popcorn scattered on the beach
Pursued by satiations seagulls
An off-key note
Sabotaging a symphony
A keyboard cannibal
Consuming all thought
Hunting in the alphabetic jungle
Of scrambled words
I have cursed them and cajoled them
All to no avail
An effort less successful
Than a dog chasing its tail
You might show your brawn,
Flex your fists,
But my words are stronger.
You might sharpen your knives,
Slash at my throat,
But my words are sharper.
You might yell and scream,
But my words are louder.
You might push and shove,
Beat me down,
But my words can be brutal.
You might lie and manipulate,
Twist what happened,
But my words carry the truth.
You might try to make sure others don’t hear,
Damper my screams,
But my words won’t be silenced.
Words have power that might can’t conquer.
Words Categories
Read wonderful words poetry on the following sub-topics:
acrostic, anonymous, comfort, encouragement, funeral, hurt, powerful, rhyme, sympathy, wisdom,
and more.
Definition | What is Words in Poetry?
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.
Related Poetry Forms
dictionary, expression, letters, name, remark, scrabble, squabble, statement, text, vocabulary, wrangle, term, verse, word game, writing