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Quote LeftA million thanks for providing this beautiful space that keeps alive in us the poetic feel, essence, the urge to create whenever, sometimes it is months, those bits and pieces, that we share here.Quote Right

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Featured Poetry: Week Starting Sunday, July 23, 2017

Below are PoetrySoup's featured poems of the week. Congratulations to our featured poets. Poems are rotated each day in groups of 14-18 to give each poem an equal opportunity to be displayed. Those who post a lot of poetry and actively comment on the poetry of others are more likely to have their poetry featured. The only guaranteed way to be featured is to become a Premium Member Featured poetry is below.

The poems are below...

Click on the numbered navigation below to navigate through all of the featured poetry.



Listen to poem:
YOUR BETTER END To be To stare To contemplate To risk To dare Once and again To trust To leap A Jump of faith To fall To land No one can say To forgive To forget Or try again To breathe To love Feel whole and place The fears The doubts To rest and then To grow To become Your better end *** January 20, 2017

Copyright © Claudia Polydoro | Year Posted 2017

You Are Perfection

I bestow upon you
my adoration and love,
for I have beheld your beauty,
and am in awe of you.
Your eyes shine
as the stars of heaven,
your lips are the colour of the sunset,
and as sweet as honey.

Your neck is as an ivory tower,
your bosom, like sisters of desire,
your belly, like the hard flat plains of the desert,
and I long to explore the richness of your valley.

My breath is all but stopped
as I gaze upon your loveliness,
at the way your long tresses of golden hair
caress your shoulders.

The way your nose wrinkles
when you smile,
a smile that causes a small dimple
to play upon your cheek.

Beauty is your name,
perfection your attribute,
and I am but a pilgrim
on a journey to worship at your altar.

Look upon me with kindness,
turn not away from my attention,
rather, entertain my longing,
and satisfy my want.

Then my days will be filled with gladness,
and my nights with serenity.
forever will your name be upon my lips,
and your beauty in my vision.

March 16, 2017
Word count: 185
For Free Verse 250 words or less contest.

Copyright © David Pekrul | Year Posted 2017

Who's Afraid of the Dark

Oh mother, dear mother, come make my bed,
for the sun grows tired and has lost its shine;
come bless the place where I will lay my head,
surround it with angels, all that’s divine.
Oh mother, dear mother, come bar the door,
count the slow clock's chime as shadows descend.
Eve's breeze is now listless, birds sings no more,
all the land lays in silence , till night ends.
Oh mother, dear mother, sing me to sleep,
drown the foul voice of fears infestation;
let us join strength, to one another keep,
safe here in your care, and consolation.

Dear father, please protect us through the night,
save us from all harm, till dawn brings us light

Copyright © T.Nicole Williams | Year Posted 2014

When I First Met You


When I first met you, I looked in your eyes
As we stood there talking, I felt hypnotized
Whatever came over me, really gave me a start
I realize now it was the fact you'd stolen my heart

You still have my heart tucked away some place
But I don't really need it, no matter the case
So please hang onto it and guard it well
You may become attached to it, you never can tell

If you should decide that I need it back
Please return it gently, for it won't be intact
It'll always be broken, never, ever to mend
If I can't be your lover, I still will be your friend

So think of that meeting that night and, hopefully recall
When your eyes mesmerized me and caused me to fall
So deeply in love hoping to start life anew
That night out in the churchyard, when I first met you

	Curtis Moorman	
	September 1992

Copyright © Curtis Moorman | Year Posted 2010

What Makes a Friend

What Makes a Friend
By Franklin Price

What makes a friend I thought today
As I was lying half awake
Thinking of the friends I have
They are a lot for goodness sake

The best I married she's a sight
Don't have to look she's at my side
Through thick and thin she's always there
My partner in life's awesome ride

Without good friends what would life be
Both old and new they fill the mind
Some far away but close at heart
In memories not hard to find

I have digressed from title here
Do not yell and do not curse
For friends help ease a jumbled world
To make things better when they are worse

Out of the woodwork they appear
As if by magic if we're in need
Don't have to ask the offer's there
Please let me help oh yes indeed

The offer's made and if a friend
No expectation of return in kind
If you're a friend the return is there
If they are ever in a bind

Friendship's not a one way street
At least it isn't meant to be
It works both ways and when it's right
I'm there for you and you for me

To have a friend just be a friend 
To all you meet along the way
And hope that when they speak of you
I have a friend is what they'll say

Copyright © Franklin Price | Year Posted 2015

What Is That Taste In My Mouth

No warning.

The taste spread swiftly
around the room.

Eyes scour.
They pinpoint the doom.

A little old lady
Who's big on perfume.

Copyright © Deb Adams | Year Posted 2017

What does the fox say

Vulpine barhopper
bays pick up line to new moon

Feline target wails
unsheathing sharp claws to show
Hatee-hatee- ho

Grizzly bouncer comes
rescues feline in distress

Copyright © Dave Will | Year Posted 2014

Valley and Mountain

Valley and Mountain

The valley in our lives is so often our own
hates, jealousies, and faults. 

The mountain standing majestic and tall 
is Love in all forms.

It beckons you, it says come here and find
what is in yourself.

Some think you need to be on top to have it all
others know this is not it at all.

The base of any mountain of Love is where the
top is found.

It bounds and bounds all around knowing the
steps to be take by all.

It is one at time as we come and go but best
of all this is not all.

It is more than standing majestic being tall or
trying to beat all.

It’s being there, for all.


Copyright © John Hardison | Year Posted 2015

time is the present of the century

a century is a century of the present
a century is time’s present of the century
time’s present is time’s century
timing is timing in the present
in the present is in the century
in the present is in the timing of the century
a century of present is a century of timing

time is time’s calling
time is time’s calling of the century
space’s is time’s calling
space’s is time’s calling of a century
in the present is in the present of space
space’s is space’s calling of a century
space’s is space’s calling of space’s

in time space is the present
in time space is a century
future’s space is future’s century
future’s space is future’s century of space
a century of space is a century of the future
century’s is century’s space of future
century’s is century’s space of space

author notes: my writing is called philosophical writing. i only uses middle ages words,words liked gracious,extravanganza,etc… this poem is about the present of time and space. i don’t add capitalization’s on my writing.

Copyright © lucifer very very very 1st | Year Posted 2017

The Thousandth and One Face of a Hero

Somewhere out there in the world

There was a girl, No! strike that—a woman.

He saw as a girl, but knew as a woman.

And loved her only like a man, only a real man can.

A full grown man. Past his trials and tribulations that plague an adolescent youth, posturing while attempting to prove his valor, worth and to much a female’s ambivalent chagrin, his dominance. In his tiny kingdom. Which was really the vast universe of all that crazy phenomenon human beings gave the quirky abstract thing a name. They called it love.

That’s been written about by bards and authors alike. Between a male and a female, the dark to your light. Hey, who is dark anyway? It must be Eve.
Anyhow. Somewhere in the world this forthright, upstanding citizen of a girl, this woman had such an “understanding that she’d see him [in his entirety] like a poem or a story. And "find his words so valuable after all that when he confessed his apprehensions she would explain why they were in fact the very things that made him precious to her.”  The Gestalt view of the man. She knew him entirely. Read him like a book. She knew the plot the exposition, the conflict the Rising Action (wink wink) the dénouement and the resolution. As the French would say, n'est-ce pas.

No, like a poem. A poem she wishes she could write. She knew where the best pages of him were. Existing in dog-eared pages with phrases that described earmarked features. Monumental features that tore her heart asunder. Features that filled her up. As god as her witness shed never be hungry again. To lie awake and think of his soul, seeping out of his mouth with words reverberating her own. Oscillating tiny bones, giving semiotics new meaning with each locution.

Don’t over analyze the symbolism here reader. She’d lie awake and ruminate his gestures, his mannerisms. His smile. And the way his face would look in different light. And how when he laughed the crinkles that formed around those intelligent eyes after he eloquently would mouth some truism. And she knew this face appeared throughout history. And she knew a writer of ballads wrote “don’t shove me while I’m drowning… were all just hunting for love” and she read once an author noted: “almost all the people on the boardwalk were paired off into couples.” The end.

Copyright © Toni Orban | Year Posted 2017

The Knocker Upper

Listen to poem:
by Robert (Bob) Moore ©

Tap Tap on the window on a cold and frosty morn
I try hard to ignore it, it’s still not even dawn
I wish the noise would go away, then I’d go back to sleep       
and I could stay here in the warmth, and sweet dreams I could keep          

But ‘till I stick my head outside, I know that he won’t stop
that’s his job, to wake me up, or a mouthful he will cop
I stagger to the window, to wave so he will know
I’m awake, and out of bed and off to work I’ll go

He is the Knocker Upper. and on him we depend
To wake us in the mornings, when sleep is our best friend
he walks the streets while we all sleep, with his long wooden pole
to tap tap on the windows, in the darkness and the cold

There’s one thing I’ve always wondered, and I’d really like to know
who wakes the Knocker Upper up, so off to work he’ll go
‘cause if the Knocker Upper, doesn’t make his rounds
then no one will go and do their job, and the whole world will fall down 

Copyright © Bob Moore | Year Posted 2016

The Ivory Tower Within

Each poet dreams of a secret retreat, an ivory tower in which to go. Refuge from the turmoil of life, isolated from the crazy world below. A solitary place in which to write, to enclose oneself in bliss and peace. Perhaps a castle beside the sea, where waves crash on rocks soothingly. But this tower already exist within, each time a poet takes up paper and pen. _______________________ Written, August 23, 2012 Verse/The Ivory Tower Within Copyright Protected, ID 415614 Featured Poem the Week of July 23, 2017

Copyright © Broken Wings | Year Posted 2012

The Globe

For peace, the sad globe dreams
Tears pour down his cheeks in streams
Since the dawn of life, man is in an endless fight
blindness in beliefs, a frightened greed and sight
Domination has haunted the dreadful elite 
Which puts the land in everlasting grief and cheat
Countless souls were lost in every twitch of time
Who will ever believe the fetus of man
When he grows and becomes upright and tall 
He will be able to slaughter his kind and may be all

Copyright © Dr.Mohammed Alrazak | Year Posted 2016

The Garden

Where fertile fields and meadows sing
once mangled brier and bramble grew.
This thick and twisted thorny sting 
deprived the soil her splendor due.

A canvas shaped by soil and clay 
confined beneath the nettled twine,
cast verdant cries to have its day
and glean a touch from one divine.

An earthly artist heard the strife
of fallowed beauty beg release.
With implements of plow and scythe
he sketched an earthly masterpiece.

Copyright © Mark Massey | Year Posted 2016

The Cure To Everything

Offer decay for my maggot king,
Plant people not flowers,
Untold power but just witnessing,

The meat and the bones surround,
Eat people not sushi,
Can see death but what have we found?

Production means we can consume,
Deny people grace,
Glittered path to our abortion room,

I hold my pen my like five charging rams,
Crush people like sawdust,
My redemption was never even a plan

My words aren't just empty they are screaming,
It's like the insects have found a better meaning,
Open my eyes and the nightmares not so far away,
Why does tomorrow have to happen today?

Life's just a bomb that I'm winding,
Only out to hurt the ones that love,
If you could see through my eyes,
And ask how could Heaven let this happen,
Would you scrape their ending off of me?

What if I let,
The weapon philosophy,
What if I make,
Psychotic symphony,
What if I act,
Like you are the enemy,
What if I hurt,
All that's real to me,

Lasted but for just how much longer now?
People spread like disease,
Age of information but you don't know how,

You're reaching out with prosthetic arms,
People alive in paradox,
Grazing your feces for the political farms,

Times like this have happened before,
Great flood for people,
Deconstruction of the envious core,

In the damage of blind acceptance,
No more people,
Suicide is our only life in penance,

All we can be is sin in our citizenship,
Like the fallen Gods they pretend to worship,
Dark and cold so we engulf ourselves in flames,
God loved me but it's not a lover's game,

Life's just a bomb that I'm winding,
Only out to hurt the ones that love,
If you could see through my eyes,
And ask how could Heaven let this happen,
Would you scrape their ending off of me?

What if I break,
The spinal deception,
What if I seek,
The violent affection,
What if I call,
Demon infestation,,
What if I sink,
The forgiving isolation.

Copyright © Steven Delauder | Year Posted 2016

The Beer Summit of 2009

He said, he said
I am history it is not dead.
I do testify,
that they ask for more than an alibi.
My face alone! Metal to bone.
See how their discretions lie,
as trampled footpaths to my home.

He said, he said,
Division lives, but not in my head.
Privileged accusation.
It is MY face and my proud vocation
under fire.
Who is the liar?
Inflamed again with grand oration,
successors of the hateful choir.

I said, I said,
I don't know what it's like to be dead.
But I do know well,
of those who get kissed and tell,
Nay Preach! All to well,
Of tension that, but for their word,
Would cease to live, to hell return.

Copyright © Carolyn Fish | Year Posted 2016

The Anatomy of Disgust

A stoma and a scar 
like the Grand Canyon
form a conspiracy 
against my body. 
The stoma--raw and 
fleshy--looks like a red 
and beefy barnacle on 
my side that constantly 
oozes and drains feces 
and waste like an 
overflowing, backyard 
cesspool. It sickens me.

Near the red and moist 
stoma lies a huge, 
crooked scar on my 
stomach and abdomen. 
It is like the Grand 
Canyon of Arizona--an 
immense displacement 
of the local landscape, 
only instead of earth 
and rock and soil it is 
my skin and muscle 
and tissue that has been 
gouged away. Like my
stoma, it sickens me as
well. Because of them
both, my body now
feels to me like the 
raw anatomy of 
what's disgusting.

Copyright © Ngoc Nguyen | Year Posted 2012


Back on terra firma.
Solid ground beneath my feet.
Self confidence returned.
No longer inept.

Back on terra firma.
And Daddy's little girl.
Wise-cracking ball breaker.
Tongue lash ready to unfurl.

Back on terra firma.
Step back and let me pass.
I'm in a hurry to catch up.
With my past, at last.

Back on terra firma.
Confidently supreme.
Blessed with so many talents.
It makes me want to scream.

Thank you Dad for planting me.
and Mum, to let me come.
Now, all I need is company.
And a lot more FUN!

Copyright © JEAN MURRAY | Year Posted 2015