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Reflections on the Important Things

PoetrySoup's BEST anthology to date is finally HERE!!!

Reflections on the Important Things is a collection of over 500 poems on important life subjects such as nature, faith, mental health, romance, in memoriam, and humor. These beautiful poems were written by PoetrySoup members from all over the world.


PoetrySoup is a worldwide poetry community and poem resource. Join our online community of poets, submit poems, and use our free educational poetry resources and tools. Read and share all types of poems organized by theme.

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This Week's Featured Poems


Yonder Bliss

angels sweet chorus
melodies hither and yon
clamorous thunder

Copyright © Franci Hoffman | Year Posted 2019

Writers Block

Blank pages stare back at me 
waiting for my mind to pour 
its' heart out. 

I grab my pen, throw on my 
headphones wait, wait for my 
mind to give my heart words 
that need to be written. 

I make my mark, withdraw my hand, I stare. 

This is all you see _____ 

Months have passed since words have 
been written, my mind is hesitant 
to reveal what my heart tries to 

Music plays in my ears in hopes 
of encouraging my mind to find 
its hidden words. 

I stop, quote Jonson in my head 
an English dramatist & poet... 
"Suns, that set, may rise again 
But if once we lose this light, 
'Tis with us perpetual night. (Volpone) 

Yet my mind still remains empty. 
Perspiration runs down my face, 
my temperature rises, frustration 
runs through my veins. 

I try yet again 

I quote Apollinaire in my head 
a French poet... 
"Les souvenirs sont cors de chasse 
Dont meunt le bruit parmi le vent" 

My anger grows 
My mind weary 
My eyes tire. 

As night falls, & its all over 
my pages still remain empty

Copyright © Debbie Walker | Year Posted 2017

Winter Wave

My cold air and snow fills the land where I loom.
Every branch on a tree, every mountain peak around, and even the blue sky I comsume.
When I least expect it, a message arrives, one of whichI know from whom.
Its filled with natures whispers of springs full bloom
They have come to take my place, I know to well this is my impending doom.
I have stayed so long, covering the land yet it still feels to soon.
But we both cannot stay and share this land, there is simply no room.
As spring begins to melt me away, I know I must return to my icy tomb.
Though I do not feel sadness or feel any gloom.
In months time I’ll arrive again for my wave to resume.

Copyright © Amya Ranck | Year Posted 2023

Why I Love a Poem

A poem has eyes that open and close like windows, 
or gills on an airborne fish.
A poem has waves that rise and crash and go back
taking our sand
like grains of time
that transform into deep receding shore
longing, looking, naked
needing more than what it had
that was taken by chance and nature
or not?
A poem must hit the spot
and leave us sound and sore—
closing ears to slamming doors.

June 5, 2016
for That's Why I Love Contest

Copyright © Rita A. Simmonds | Year Posted 2016

Why Do They Seek Me


Why do they seek me
These distorted images, only I see
Condemned souls of the fallen one
What is this, has it really begun?
He calls to me, you know
Talks to me in my dreams
Desperate cries for help
But no one hears my screams
Suffocation, mutilation, biting teeth
I have become numb
No passion, no emotion, 
My transformation has begun
Its all so clear to me now
And I know my fate
Trapped in a world 
Full of chaos blood and hate.

Sally Harden-Harris

Copyright © Sally Harris | Year Posted 2023

Weather Haiku

changing very fast,
weather unpredictable
bringing winds that crash.

Copyright © Meredith Tally | Year Posted 2021


Some days I just want to scream
And scream
And scream
And get all of these voices
Out of my head.

I just want them all to go
To go out and far away
I just want some peace and quiet
I just really, really want 
some peace and quiet.

No voices from the outside
No voices from the inside

Some days I just want to scream
And scream
And scream
A basic primordial scream
Until I can’t anymore.

Until I’m lying down on the floor
And I can wrap myself in me.
A comfortable place to be
And then I can go to sleep
And not hear anymore voices.

(November 13, 2010 Wausau, Wisconsin)

(c) Copyright 2010 by Christine A Kysely, All Rights Reserved

Copyright © Christine A Kysely | Year Posted 2010

Upon the Ship

Through the fog
And over the sea
I see a ship
What else could it be?
On top the lighthouse
Shine bright for me
Upon the ship
So I may see
And dream that I
Someday may be
Upon the ship
That sails to sea.

Copyright © Julia A. Keirns | Year Posted 2020

Tunnel's Light

Bathing me in light
The Sun comes down settling
Just to say goodbye.

Not for forever
For just… a little while
Before returning.


Breaking night- time’s fast 
Hearing my salutation
Fresh up springs the Sun


‘Take my Sun with you
Sit well for this, a new day‘
Called, disposition.

Thus, do I live well
Surveying all we can see
Living together.

Copyright © Brian Rusch | Year Posted 2023

True Grit

My  name is Mattie Ross and I hail from Yell County
In the state of Arkansas living, on a ranch with family
At the age of fourteen I suffered personal tragedy
When my father Frank Ross was taken from me.

By a lazy good for nothing drifter that he had hired
And if it had been me in charge he would have been fired.
That drifter went by the name of Tom Chaney
Who was down on his luck, and whom my father took pity.

He was quite a devious man with a black mark on his face
And to me, he was nothing short of a disgrace
He was never around when there was work to be done
And I'd often catch him sitting out in the sun.

Father wanted to buy ponies, break them in and sell them on
And he asked Tom Chaney if he'd like to ride along
He went with father to Fort Smith, a busy fur trading town
Then got drunk, lost money gambling and shot my father down.

He stole money left over that father had to buy ponies
And also two lucky gold pieces as he fell to his knees
He left him dying in the dirt then managed to get away
And for that heinous crime I vowed he would pay.

Next day I went to town and asked the Sheriff to help me
But said he wouldnt be able to raise a posse
Because he didn't have jurisdiction in the Indian nation
And added Judge Parkers marshals, might help my situation.

I asked who the best was? he said "Rooster Cogburn is his name
Wears an eye patch, likes a drink but he's the best in the game
He's bringing prisoners in later from the county today
He'll sure get the job done, but you'll have to pay".

I waited outside the courthouse until he came out
A tall man with an eyepatch and he was quite stout
I said " Mr Cogburn I have a proposal for you
I want you to find my fathers killer, you'll be paid what your due".

He agreed but said that he'd rather go it alone
That it could turn out quite dangerous and that I should go home
On the scene arrived a Texas ranger, by the name of LaBeouf
He too was after Chaney saying, he was a wanted killer and thief.

I was determined to go with them, they tried to ride off without me
But I was determined to be there when they arrested Chaney
Out on the trail we found out, he'd joined lucky Ned Peppers gang
A bunch of murdering outlaws who should all hang.

We made camp and I went to the river, for water to make coffee
But I slipped down a slope and there before me stood Chaney
I tried to shoot him with father's colt dragoon gun
But it jamned and Chaney grabbed me before I could run.

He took me back to their camp and Ned's gang rode away
But Rooster heavily armed was standing in their way
A gunfight ensued Rooster shot most of the gang dead
And with his rifle from the hillside LaBeouf shot lucky Ned.

LaBeouf came in to Ned's camp and Chaney hit him over the head
And as he fell to the ground I prayed that he wasn't dead
I picked up father's gun and fired , Chaney was hit
The recoil sent me backwards and I fell into a snake pit.

LaBeouf came to and pulled me out of the pit
And from the mark on my arm noticed that I'd been bit
Meanwhile Rooster returned and saw my snake bite
He picked me up and rode, all day and all night.

He managed to get me to the town doctor, who then saved my life
But I lost my left arm to his sharp surgical knife
LaBeouf made a good recovery, with just a scar where he'd been hit
And I'll never forget him and Rooster, both men with true grit.

Written 9th  March 2021

Inspired by the novel True Grit by Charles Portis and the movie of the same name made in 1969 that starred John Wayne, Glen Campbell and Kim Darby.
There was a remake of True Grit in 2010 starring Jeff Bridges, Matt Damon, Josh Brolin  and Hailee Steinfield.

Copyright © Tom Cunningham | Year Posted 2021

The Sun Will Shine

The Sun will Shine

                                     The Sun does a Shine

                                      The Sun will Shine

Copyright © Anthony Taylor | Year Posted 2019

The Storm

The Storm

Black rimmed skies,
Clouds with no lining of silver,
Gusts of wind,
Trees protesting,
With a dance on the horizon.

Rumblings of thunder,
Flashes of lightening,
Animals and humans,
Caught up in the melee,
While scurrying to the shelter,
Of their de-roofed abodes.

A deluge of wetness,
Spattering on the pavement,
Cascading into drains,
Loaded with the debris,
From a disenchanted metropolis.

Steering-happy drivers,
Punishing crying jalopies,
Meandering through the gridlock,
They almost knock down children,
Glorying in the rain.

But the end, was also the beginning,
The damage done: great!
Before any got home,
The sun was up smiling,
In adulation for the rain,
For a job well done.

Copyright © Sandison Jumbo | Year Posted 2016

The Keeper of Secrets

I am the Keeper of Secrets
I have heard all men's tales
Of murder, adultery
And other betrayals

Their stories come to me
Through back doors at night
Their compromised souls
Caught in desperate plight

I'm the Keeper of Secrets
You never would know
I make no judgments
No cursings of woe

I hear both sides of stories
Only one thing is sure 
That both sides are liars
No one speaks the truth.

Copyright © D. C. Jordan | Year Posted 2016

The Gift By Max Burchett

by Maxwell "Max" Sebastian Burchett
However you say the name, Mom, Mum, Momma, Mommy, We all feel the same. Dear Mother, Thank you! For all you did for me. You did not have to, I know, it was all a genuine gift. You wanted to. Every meal, all I wore, Did not matter, if a little or more, You gave all you had, was mine, Then touched my heart with loving words, and stories read, Your voice, stored always in my mind. The love you gave Was like no other gift in this world, Greater than all earthly things. What carried me on, What meant more, Was your gift Of love divine. Thank you, Mama!

Copyright © Max Burchett | Year Posted 2023

The Clouds

Buoyant on the North west winds;
Shredded clouds expose a half moon eye.
An eye that stares cautiously at
The hyphens of cars below.

Stratus sunsets trace the highway,
That leads to my refuge, 
and shields me from the voyeur and the oncoming night.

I sit upright against unforgiving vinyl,
on the back of a bus that rebounds daily,
between New York City and my nightly abode.

I watch the cirrus race the Greyhound 
and the Mustangs running in packs of three.
A spyglass has formed within a white nimbus,
an oval window into the crowded heavens.

The clotheslines of the Gods turn to skyrockets,
Shooting masterful projections upward,
Now, composed as arrows that hasten
An antelopes final good night.
Clouds drift away without shadow or fault.

The clouds, the clouds
I alone with my burden,
Where do they go?

Copyright © Brenda Atry | Year Posted 2011

The Barber

Listen to poem:
by Robert (Bob) Moore © 2015

I used to get my haircut, at the local RSL
Gunther was the Barber, he knew my hair real well
for 20 years he cut it, short back and sides or trim
whenever my hair got too long, I went round to him

The RSL grew bigger, not the special place we knew
with a big hotel as part of it, dress regulations too
no more for the working man, with blue tee shirt and thongs
or even the old Digger, didn’t feel like he belonged

It was now a money maker, not the place it had been when
you’d always meet someone you knew, a place for working men
They still had darts and pool of course, if you wanted a game
but smoking banned, and count your beers, it just wasn’t the same

now Gunther’s place was not as busy, as once it would have been
they pushed his shop outside the doors, the entrance hardly seen
one day he said he’d had enough, it was time for him to go
another nail in the coffin, of the life I used to know

to find another Barber, now that was quite a chore
these places they all had “Hairdresser”, written on their door
the women all talked kids and shops, and clothes that they’d seen there
no sport, no racing, no latest tips, unless they were in your hair

never had a woman cut my hair, or a man with streaks in his
and the very first that did, I thought she took the pizz
when she said, I don’t have a cutthroat, so I can’t shave your neck
maybe your wife can do it, when you get home, like ‘eck

as if I’d let my loving wife, get that close to my throat
with a cutthroat razor, I’m not a silly goat
I don’t think she would let it slip, she still loves me, although,
it would be the last nail in the coffin, of the life I used to know.

Copyright © Robert J Moore | Year Posted 2016

Tending Mother's Day

Listen to poem:

Copyright © Hilo Poet | Year Posted 2019


Eyes pucker and swell
Erupting with tears
Of pleasure or joy?
But who is to know?
The quivering lips
And trembling hands
Equipped with cotton
To swab the overflowing
Excretions from eyes and nose
Of pleasure or joy?
Is it for me to be 
The analytical master
Of this robust emotional
Human puppeteer.
Alas alone struggling
With unbridled emotions
Of pleasure or joy?
Why some choose to cull
All emotion for private 
Yet others ill equipped 
With self control cannot
Quell the tearjerking
And public displays 
Of pleasure or joy?
The loveless and the lonely
The defeated and lost
No one to judge 
No cross to bare 
But I surmise at times
Through life's unparalleled
Roller coaster it is to be not
Rejected not ignored but 
Simply admired from afar
As an uncontrollable impulse
Of pleasure or joy?
The result of which commands
The same tearful over dramatized
Actions whether private or on 
Display for passers by to discern.

Copyright © Kelli White | Year Posted 2015

Summer Moon

Subtle and mild.
Summer love came.
Answering our cry.
In swift reply.
In mid-summer's bloom.
Secrets rendered.
Illuminated under moon.
Radiant nights.
Pandered to our request.
Forever and this moment.
This life and the next.

Copyright © Indigo Sky | Year Posted 2023

Spring Lakes

In spring lakes, my eyes

                Reflect back my purest self

Water remembers

Copyright © Michelle Faulkner | Year Posted 2018


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