Poetry Places Poems

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Details | Prose Poetry |
So I walked into my local supermarket
to buy my weekly shipment of Kit Kat bars,
Cinnamon Toast Crunch,
and Ovaltine powder mix.

As I shake off the snow on my fake Timberland boots,
my skin,
coated in frozen animation,
thaws into warmth’s teardrops from
the supermarket’s 75 degree vents.

This moist sense of happiness was quickly interrupted
when I heard Wilson Phillips, “Hold On”
over the PA system.

Thankfully, the cutlery isle was just to my left. 
So, now, I had plans!

But, before I could commit felony’s song,
I saw her.

A Portuguese goddess
with a strut that can ruin a man’s dignity.

She had Autobahn curves,
dark brown curls of hair & visuals,
and thick flesh meat that even Vegans would envy.

Her face lacked Maybelline coated misapprehension.
Thank God!
Cause I never did like clowns.

After staring longingly at her,
like a crack head with impulsive eyes upon a broken/unlabeled bag of baby powder,
she breezed past my stifled posture and clocked in to work.

She didn’t even get a chance to smell my $500 cologne called “Piece of Me”.

So with new-found urges to grab all my groceries,
like a burglar who really has to pee,
I rush to express checkout. 

There she is.

Her register beeps in coupon lady’s rhapsody,
while my register needs a cleanup on Isle 9.

Now it’s my turn.

With girlish inner-screams of boy-band intensity,
I say, “Hi”.

She scans my apples, while I scan her melons.
The melons that the customer ahead of me didn’t want…
…they were on sale.

Go fig.

As if she read my mind,
she asks,
“Are you feeling warm now?”

“All I want is to be the heat in your moment”,
which I almost said.

But, “Now I am”, is uttered.

As she smiled with seductive demure,
she handed me my receipt
with her phone number on back.

As I left the market,
I began to get cold again.

These winds of change
became gusts of numbness.

I locked myself out of my heart.

I turned around to go back inside.

Only to discover, 
she didn’t have the key.

© Drake J. Eszes

Copyright © Drake Eszes | Year Posted 2010

Details | Light Poetry |

Rice fields look the same except for this one; this one who knew me before i was born… and lying on her fertile belly, she tosses the mist of evening’s bamboo for raindrops to moisten the flesh of gentle cattle. Through serenades from elders gathering in a bonfire of twitters and jousts,a carousel of birds wheels in a rhapsody, then takes flight along scented air whisking tiny lanterns near the plain,while rivers blue twirl on rustic clay. How beautiful can she be! I must have twirled with her on a cradle of blushing petals swirling oh so feathery! Waking up for some reason, dusted grains on my eyes ignite this one spectacle tryst with my rice field where I have become different... my head throbbing in sweet surrender, perhaps, claiming the very floor of my navel through her ripened harvest. ................... Judged and Finalized 6/18/2016 I Got Zero, Nothing, Nada -1 Contest of Broken Wings Resubmitted 7/1/2016

Copyright © nette onclaud | Year Posted 2016

Details | Light Poetry |

When dreamtime leads me to a mystic land I saunter quietly ... climbing a hill, For the kingdom of fairies and elves reigns With gossamer wings and jewels in their hair. A sapphire castle laps with ambient winds Robed in diamante from godly hands. Sweet mist of air and silver voices echo Through quivering rock pools of hawthorns green. This lofty place thrills bright imaginings Upon glittered sands like tiers of limestone, Hard marbles and finely-polished pebbles Lie dotted through rainbow of stardust ,untold. Tasseled wands bestow spells on the courtyard Beguiling my eye with pixie- waltz steps Until, at the height of enchanted awe Fairy Queen lends magic, then fades in dreams! Second Chance # 3 Contest of Broken Wings Posted 4/21/2016 Judging Finalized 4/27/2016

Copyright © nette onclaud | Year Posted 2016

Details | Sonnet |

Near somber guards, units of children heap 
dead leaves, naive to any else fallen.
Friend, you chuckle, but your posture speaks
of duty on this day of contradictions.

Firefighters bow heads in silent paean, 
while polished trucks stand at attention.
Families have again answered the call
to attend this festival, so uncommon.

Here, laughter rings around the memorial
for exuberance must never be doused,
Gloriously wrought, a sculpture of angels
commiserates with each mourning house.

You say, I see valor in lives that inspire.
 I see heroes and their lines of fire.

*For Craig


Surreal, the way a contortionist knots
himself as the escape artist breaks free.  
Uptown, buskers beckon with what-naughts,
drawing thousands. Candyland, sighs New-Dali

at its epicenter, his true element,
and he takes it in: the sword swallower,
blindfolds, jugglers, clowns miming laments,
fire-fed gals, stilted-men and tots taller 

on shoulders. This carnival can endear,
turn heads, but only one with a seer-heart
studies the music box dancer, then swears
that she spins perfect webs with street-smarts.

Mirroring that swivel, awed by his entourage,
He becomes centrum to his own collage.

*For Chan, fully alive in Heaven.


Your brows are up. The Princess Cinema
is not your choice. C'mon, I don't fit here,
you snort. You, with all your charisma 
and kindness, stand in a short line, fearing

boredom or worse ... pretense. Promise me,
that we aren't about to wallow through
subtitles, you sigh.  Give me clarity,
a story, something that I can relate to.

But the charm catches you by surprise,
a star-struck atmosphere, the seats are new
and the popcorn is still warm. Friendly eyes
laugh, then amusement streams from you

for these Global TV spots simply delight
like each snippet that you joyfully write.

*For Andrea


There be Scots as farrrrrr as the eye can see.
Brawn calves and bright kilts delight lasses 
while pipers swagger out of the pub, tipsy.
Your smile broadens as a caber is tossed

end over end. Then, across the glen, highland                      
dancers in ghillies beckon with hearty flings.
Auch, it’s hot yet heather dare no’ wilt. Clans
gather, roguishly rib each other, as wool spins

in wheels. Aye, the romance can fair overwhelm
e’en the sensible. Worse for we, the fanciful. 
Come, here’s the tea tent. Let soft fiddles calm
as we nibble oatcakes. Tartans and tunes pull

heartstrings. We sit raptly, lost in Brigadoon,
put pen to napkin to let wee thistles bloom. 

* For Francine


Rustling maples break vows of silence,
naturally. As pleased, spears of hyacinth  
worship breezes with such soft reverence
that we give pause in this living labyrinth. 

Nothing here is still; wood thrush reverb
good news and cicadas buzz testimonials.
Nearby, a creek mumbles, Word-Word
while squirrels glorify their bounty. All

is abuzz with joy, save for the shade
under a weathered cross; it’s emptiness
resurrects veneration. A butterfly wades
the sudden hush, lands on your hand, nests.

My friend, you lift it to wood, sympathizing 
on bent knee, speechlessly evangelizing. 

*For Brian


Your eyes drink the hues of the Shisha Lounge:
art on walls, art brewing over charcoal.
This coffee ceremony is on the fringe,
far from the pallid and staid. I’ve marveled

at these dear blends, how culture can transcend 
barriers and ignorance. We order too much.
Tibsy, zignie, timtimo.. injera bends 
to each spiced delicacy as our plates touch. 

Gone is this haven where pleasure was shared.
Still, I’ll bring you there. Scribe, man of integrity,
sit with me. Exhale poetry. Imbibe tribal air. 
Mine, this moment and mine, this memory

but that mystifying brew, that receptive floor,
the smoke refined by deep respect… each are yours.  

*For my cuz, Scribe


A warbling vireo hops from oak to elm.
Your gaze wanders, too. This amphitheater
hosts the lyrical, almost overwhelms,
for beyond the mill ruins, the Grand River

is deep in thought, reflecting. It’s as though myth
lives; Summerland has come to the hillside 
where weathered fieldstones beguile the impish
to dance. They do or else tin flutes will chide.

Though cozy the spot,  the world's at our feet.
Tanned toes can not help but tap. Strong is the lure
of pipes and those songs that dulcimers keep.
When night softly falls, one group brings rapture. 

They sing until stars tire and all are hoarse
like poets rousing words to supplicate verse.

*For Carrie


Pure pageantry, how publishers' banners
wave over tents. Flocks of readers graze
on glossy trades, leaflets, hardcovers,
chapbooks. My friend, a true gent, stays
his ground. Maybe, it is the press of page;
Its forthright weave petitions for slants,
favors unique fonts, yet gilds no edge,
sees no need for illustration, just verdant
language. I did not intend to read
over his shoulder. He grins good-naturedly,
tweed makes an allowance. Each line, poetry,
he praises and I still my chatter. We feed
on gems, unrushed, but their brilliance spurs
a verbose woman and a man of his word.

*For David

Copyright © Cyndi MacMillan | Year Posted 2014

Details | Sonnet |
She lets me put violets in her hair,
good-humouredly, calls me Ophelia
in such a way that I spout, But Shakespeare
pushed war, not love. Resplendent, Thalia

strolls the peaceful paths of Victoria Park,
taken with the interplay of people,
the signs of change, bridges like love at work;
Often, her hands become divine steeples

of calm prayer. Yet there is imminence 
heard in fervencies, a tremendous will
wrought with words of truth and tolerance 
that dare to preserve all that is spiritual.

Three share our views in comfortable silence,
Me, hope and a Goddess of Non-Violence. 

*For Catie

Copyright © Cyndi MacMillan | Year Posted 2014

Details | Limerick |
While doing my daily internet loop
I read some poems at Poetry Soup
Some souls were bared
Emotions shared
By a wonderfully talented group

So many unknowns are gathered together
Brandishing their talents without a tether
Notable skills
From gifted quills
Flocking together like birds of a feather

Whether mundane or totally bizarre
Through words they express just who they are
Some young, some old
Some shy, some bold
Each as marvelous as a shooting star

To the nameless owners of this great site
Thank you for giving our poetry flight
No longer adrift
Because of your gift
You are the beacon that brings us to light

Copyright © Dawn Drickman | Year Posted 2006

Details | Limerick |
A poetry convention is a wow
Our writes we endeavour to plough
We'll meet so many friends
To enhance writing trends
Our strengths are as thick as the bough

To my table I have decided to seat
Three ladies whom I'd so love to meet
They are favourites of mine
And they will be for some time
Their poetry to read is my treat

The first lady to seat is a gem
Her novels just shine from her pen
She's a New Jersey girl
Who makes my heart twirl
Her poetry flows 'tres bien'

The second lady to sit at my table
If given the chance, I'd surely enable
She's Maltese, she's Celene
A Mediterranean Queen
Her name would be beautifully labelled

The third lady who I now show to her chair
Her writing just makes me openly stare
It's oozes life's desire
It makes me aspire
Table Top Mountain, I wish I was there

<*> Not for any contest, but I thank Michael for the idea, ty <*>

Thank you Carolyn Devonshire, Celene Crescent & Wilma Neels for being you,xxx


Copyright © James Fraser | Year Posted 2011

Details | Light Poetry |

A drapery flutters of sunlit glory With lustrous stars gleaming near; Hovering around the ‘ Pearl of Orient ‘ Where seven thousand islands adorn Tints of liberty, peace, and independence; Radiant in hues… crimson, blue, white Flaming the hearts of a race blessed By lush rice terrains and summer winds. O, a banner of smiles freely glimmers Through a homeland destined to imbue Love for all brethrens as it stands proud, As the harbinger of native warmth Offering comfort to voyagers , but Fiercely defending a birthplace’s right… Where one mighty streamer rides high, Guarding folk and children…Philippines! Judy Konos' Your Country State City Flag Country: Philippines by nette onclaud...7/29/2015

Copyright © nette onclaud | Year Posted 2015

Details | Light Poetry |
Going on a tram to Lattes*,
the tram rails winding this and that,
but first, Montpellier was seen.
Tall buildings, cream and white,
and the sight of seagulls
near bright sea.

Best day was to be had in Lattes,
and ice-cream from bow-fronted shop.
Eight euros then to pay...
Tall buildings, monochrome,
and the sight of seagulls
near the sea.

The seagulls followed the tram back,
the tram rails winding this and that,
and then Montpellier re-seen.
Shops were shutting for the day
in tall buildings cream and white,
before the seagulls went away.


* pronounced Lat.



Contest -  My Abiding Memory

Sponsor - Viv Wigley


1st placement win - a real prize this time as well as glory!

Copyright © Julia Ward | Year Posted 2015

Details | Rhyme |
Of writing she's got it, simply read her writes Lines flowing into lines her words delight Intelligence with aplomb, crafted so Viewing leads to smiles our eyes bestow Elegance via quill, generates, grows Each and every theme written by she Launched by her mind to every degree Outstanding use of forms I so agree Interesting differences, learnings desired Sharing others cultures, so inspired A heart of hearts, that will never grow tired .

Copyright © James Fraser | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry |
He stands proud and strong, this kilted warrior
head held high against the unending pain
of a heart born out of sadness
for the loss of those who came before him
and thoughts of those who would
continue on when he himself was no more.
Proud men one and all
vows made, till surrendered in death
to defend that which
was their birthright, the very land
upon which he now stood.
The call to battle though long since silenced
came from within his very heart and soul
blood of the ancient ones raged in his veins
his sword by his side...shield upon his back
he stood ready to charge into battle
to do what was expected of him since birth
to fight as those before him fought
without fear, but with a strength
only a battle hardened warrior
knew and understood.

Copyright © Melody Coster | Year Posted 2007

Details | Prose Poetry |
Hiss, Hiss, Snap goes the lighter
And he walks ahead
Just like a fighter
Click, Click, kaching goes the money
And he leaves with his poison
Why am I laughing? This isn't funny
But I can't help but laugh, laugh, laugh
My face hurts
My mind is starting to drift
And boom! Something bursts
I'm the boss of me
And I'm not so right
What do I do
I'm losing my own fight
Who is this?
This isn't me
I can't believe what I see
Hiss, hiss, snap goes the lighter
And he passes it round
Down, down, down, goes the fighter
We all make a sound
Crash, crash, crash
We are heading
Burn, burn, burn, we are burning
But, no one is learning
What did I do?
What was I thinking?
I can't believe I wanted to
I'm the boss of me
And I'm not so right
What do I do?
When I let myself lose sight
Who is this?
Who is she?
What did I do?
Is this me?

Copyright © Rebecca Berezin | Year Posted 2012

Details | Free verse |
early morn' espresso sanity
more than clouds in my caffè,
musings' sugared cuppa fancy 
atop frothy dreamt wanderlust 
& places to visit, people to read,
percolating poetic joie de vivre

Copyright © Paloma P | Year Posted 2016

Details | Free verse |
The heat of summer makes her brain gelatin
The Arizona sun turns her into a skeleton
Time and space she does not put to waste
Really, this poet lady is one of great taste

Iced tea and lemonade in the Arizona sunlight
Create an atmosphere for her that’s just right
Ink just drying on her newly crafted poem
Always ready to rate on the pole of totem

Tall she stands with stature in poet's land
Only doing right waving her magic wand
Leading other poets to higher heights
Lovely readings are on her poetic site

Everyone should look in her poetic bag
What? Jill Martin, you are now tagged!

Comments:  Okay Jill, I was tagged by Tamiviolet Manchas.  As a result, I have to 
pass the tag along.   Your name is on the top of the list.  Your poetry is just 
wonderful!  Now, you must find a poet whose poetry you enjoy reading, and tag 
that poet with a poem.  Man, this is so much fun!  Chau!

Copyright © Joseph Spence Sr | Year Posted 2006

Details | Light Poetry |
They say education is the key. 
A key that can open all closed doors. 
A sharpener to our minds. 
Provider of brighter life and expectations.
	it's like a shining lamp in a dark world
	even better than the shining stars in the sky
Different parts of the world,the key takes us there. 
The key doesn't choose religion,race, tribe, class or where you come from. 
You just see it and take it. 
Grab it with your hands and don't let go. 
Explore all parts of the key.
Understand its richness and wealth.
 	With various  ingredients like maths, languages, sciences, 
geography, engineering among others.
	 It makes you the most intellect in the world. 
Greatest scientist, engineer, doctor, teacher, leader among many. 
	With the key: 
You talk, they listen and understand.
 That knowledge of the key is a weapon. 
A weapon that can slush dragons into pieces.
 	The key is a healer of diseases.
 	A solution provider. 
It aggrandizes unimaginable things never seen before.
 The key is like a drug that never expires.
 The greatest inheritance of a child.
To get the key is a process.
 Step by step you learn. 
Never give up when the going gets tough.
 Don't stay down if you can get up.
 Gather all your strength and move forward. 
Wipe out the sweat and tears. 
Don't lose focus keep going.
 With hard work and discipline you will finish the race.
 Sweeter than honey are it's fruits.
		 Who wouldn’t want this key? 
			I ask! 
Go get the key and don’t look back.

Copyright © DAVID WAWERU | Year Posted 2016

Details | Haiku |
Peace of nature shows
how relaxing life can be
and can show you truth 

Copyright © Christian Childs | Year Posted 2013

Details | Light Poetry |
dress down

no gown

Copyright © Brian Strand | Year Posted 2009

Details | Sonnet |

Sunset. Synergy is moving between chairs
that don't quite match, widening tight circles   
of rovers. Muses Cafe, a small cove where
views internalize, so we heave heavy troubles

outside. Minstrel Mary Anne Epp shelters 
songs about happenstance. When a server drops
a plate, she ad libs, Save cracks for later.
Heads nod to her witty vibes, bite-sized bops.

Inspiration strums as parlance sighs, Good grief,              
my journal's at home.  You say, All's fine.
but your purse offers only ONE loose leaf,
curiously room enough for TWO to lay lines.

Pens groove. Friend, you prove that poets can wage
self-determined verse while on the same page.

*For Kathryn 

Copyright © Cyndi MacMillan | Year Posted 2014

Details | Couplet |
I woke up in a dream on a coast I've never seen But somehow in a way, I knew I'd be here one day I'm detecting a touch of Spanish, language it is not All I see is leaving Galleon's, raped, now forgot I'm seeing centuries before me, colonial now so free The Japanese like them before, ravaging in spree On a beach I walk to the light, attracting I to enter I'm there, as I walk through, my viewing now centred Into this lush land I walk, not knowing where I'll be There's something that desires, I'll know when I see Walking, walking, walking, it's all I appear to do Clearer my mind becomes, I know I'm walking to you Further my weakened feet, stride through their weak I know at the end of my journey, I'll meet whom I seek A village, a town nears, as I look back to whence I came Awakening in this dream, praying this person feels the same .

Copyright © James Fraser | Year Posted 2014

Details | Romanticism |
From the Gardens of Babylon,
to the walkways of Palestina,
to the grand temples of Jerusalism,
to the sandy beaches of Syria and Cyprus.
Went my Persian Queen riding,
upon her golden, firery chariot.

Her black hair, like silk long and flowing.
Her royal robes white and purple, bare and pure.
Her sword by her side, ready to strike.
Her spear fastened, ready to stab the dreeded heart
of the Fire Dragon.
On the firery chariot, riding with her armies,
Went my Perisan Queen.

O, how my arimes fight your armies,
in the midst of night fall, under a full moon.
Let us stop this foolish fighting.
And have fellow brother, love fellow brother.
And so we can fall in love forever.

And don't act like you don't show love for me.
I see you in the dawns, standing upon the sand covered battlefields.
Standing proud behind your armies.
With your black hair flowing.
You almost making me want not to fight the battle of the Day,
for if you were killed, what victory would that be then?

You pull your armies back at the last minute, before I am slayed
by your fellow brother in arms.
You retreat your arimes back over the hills, not in fear of losing the day,
but in fear of losing me.
You and your armies had plenty of chances to kill me, yet you do not.

My Persian Queen, O come now.
Come down from your firery chariot
and into my restless arms.
I know you are tired
and wanting to sleep.

Listen to the nightingale
sing her love song.
Drinking the sweet necture,
from the gardens, in your vase Persian Empire.

Come now, and kiss me,
Hold me, let us ride,
far from the simple minds of the Old World
and fall in love in a New.

My Persian Queen
O how I love you so much.
I cannot bare to see you in a life you don't want to live.
Come let I, your Knight in shinning armour liberate you.
Take you by the hand, run through the great bazzare in Old Istanbul
running away from the Janissaries of your father's Imperial armies.

Let us leave this place of hate and sorrow.
To start our lives a new.
My Persian Queen,
Now dressed in silk lace,
with golden jewlery hanging
from your beautiful and tender neck.
Along with the silver pattened belt around your harmonial waist.

It is time for you, to come with me.
No more shall we act like we dispise one another.
As Romeo and Juliet's love failed,
shall our love take course, and we shall love
till the oceans swallow the earth, the mountains crumble,
and the Sun engulf the sweet Earth.
And on and on shall our love go on,
My adorable and lovely Persian Queen.

Copyright © Chris Boskovski | Year Posted 2013

Details | Light Poetry |
I languish in a summer’s breeze
As I tumble backwards
To childhood
I hear the sound of the train 
Rumbling down the tracks
I have no idea why this brings me such joy
Other than a penny will be squished in my honor
The train sounds its warning at the crossing
It voyages to the beyond, places that for a child
Seem to be in foreign lands

I am content here, in the meadows of memories
Here I feel the past painting its history into my very being
Rain pours downs days after day
The brook fills with life, the hills full of green
I, in wellingtons have never been happier
Life surrounds my little feet, as I wander in the meadows of delight
Later I gaze out the window, surreal in ancestral contentment
I somehow know this is my past, enticed by natures grasp
For a child’s paradise, soon too end
When reality comes to the dance

Now as I gaze down the road
Where once trains traveled in glory
The station is gone
The tracks no more
Yet I walk down this road of memories
Drowning in desire
For days of the past
Were a child’s heart
Still danced in Meadowville
Amongst the lingering winds from the sea

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2014

Details | Couplet |
Never could I have imagined where I would find love In my wildest dreams I'd roam to seek this Angel Dove Never could I have imagined from where this love would bloom She just appeared to me one day, surprised, in my bedroom Never could I have imagined poetic words capturing I Then reading by whom has written, my eyes soon espied Never could I have imagined that words could turn to hearts That such a beautiful woman could repair a world blown apart Never could I have imagined writing a poem about Lake Taal Next thing I know I'm flying many miles to meet this poetic gal Never could I have imagined the wonderful country of her birth That I'd share with such a beauty, my journey blessings worth Never could I have imagined how we shaped East and West Our poetry blending collaborations groomed our writing zest Never could I have imagined my heart being totally thawed Meeting this poetic girl for real, I'm gorgeously left in awe Never could I have imagined in my bedroom that July afternoon That in just a couple of weeks, it's the continuance of our bloom <*>

Copyright © James Fraser | Year Posted 2015

Details | Light Poetry |

A clatter of human hooves drums on through an after- dawn marketplace… the wide tunnel of mouths reel from the splintered chorus of jangled tunes bargaining and rattling papaya, arabica and sushi roll orders: a fiesta of succulent aroma whisks mid-air, talkative faces sampling potent crops on weaved baskets , hanging neatly before slurpy hands condemn them to boiling pots: the errant noise loose like gander and hogs. How much is this and that? The slithering, crumpled bills drop their tongues on purses scraped from one week’s abominable toil.. oh, darting fishes jerk their bellies while the array of chicken hunks glaze under lights, frozen and lumped from farmers’ harvest rites... morning so luscious with grapes colored velvet skin, lettuce tips pulped by shiny green: and the procession of lapping mouths reach head tone pitch, dishes, dishes for salivating tongues, taste buds for citrusy fruits, on one delirious mecca to a market, market day! ...................... A Poem You Enjoyed Contest of Lewis Raynes Entered 9/13/2016 (Old Poem)

Copyright © nette onclaud | Year Posted 2014

Details | Personification |
Charlotte Sweet Charlotte
You are quiet tonight
You can still see the stars from your streets
A city so charming
And filled with delight
This southerner sure can compete

Unlike other cities
With tall buildings and more
You still have the grace of a gal
Who stands center and strong
To a heart filled with song
Who cares if you’re a femme fatale

For the glory is yours
Each day you do rise
To the sounds of the cafes all bustling
And tighten your boot straps
For Nascar, perhaps
Where Jeff Gordon will surely be hustling

Yes, the Speedway is here
With its cars and bright lights
And legends are made on the tracks
But even momentum
Some beer and adventure
Won’t stop you from feeling relaxed

Charlotte Sweet Charlotte
You are quiet tonight
But soon it will be football season
And the Panthers will play
The foe they will slay
Sweet Caroline plays for a reason

Your spell is cast nicely
On those who pass through
For your wonder will captivate
Just shy of the Mountains
Or East to the sea
Our Charlotte is Queen of the State

The Blue Ridge is glory
The landscape sincere
The small towns are doing quite well
The farms and small places
With warm familiar faces
The stories those mountains will tell

But if you drive East
Of this sweet Charlotte town
You will find country charm by the sea
Where sweet tea is custom
And corn bread is bakin’
And Carolina love sets you free 

Charlotte Sweet Charlotte
You are quiet tonight
You can still see the stars from your streets
A city so charming
And filled with delight
This southerner sure can compete

By Mary Susan Vaughn

Copyright © Mary Susan Vaughn | Year Posted 2016

Details | Prose Poetry |
I'm driving through such beauty, this lush rural countryside. I find it hard to believe that my 
career has taken me to here. Being where I am is so much different to the Highlands from where I reside from.

Thankfully my 4 x 4 takes the endless rutting roads with aplomb. Mind you, sometimes they remind me of back home, councils never repairing.

As I drive, visually I see scattered belongings. Has the wind carried them to there, as I stare, whilst driving, mm!

The long and winding road takes me to where I've come from. The Coffee Plantation that allured me here initially, empowers me to think back to it's early days. The wanting of the locals, hungered for work, steady monies, quaint prosperity from their already empty existence. 

The next day, I hear on the news, that Habyarimana and the Burundian President, Cyprien Ntaryamira were on a plane, shot down, all were lost.
Having met Juvénal Habyarimana before, it saddened me totally.

The next day on the local radio, I hear there's been disturbances. Like many places in Africa, it was the norm. Onward I went about readying for work. Off I go, before I reach the entrance, a crowd rushes towards me. Angry to say is an understatement, vociferous they, wielding anything they can lay their hands on. Branches, planks, irons, machete’s to name. I'm now needing to veer, to not hit workers that I recognise.

I stop a few miles from home, sweated, shaking, as to why?

To get to my Coffee Plantation, I have to travel through the local village, town, call it what you may. As I near, like yesterday, strayed clothes abound, but different, and so much more. This time they're reddened, stained, adorning ripped bodies.

Now frightened, I travel on foot, walking through blooded carnage, my stomach churning.

Children clutching their mothers, fathers and sons I assume holding hands. Young girls taken, forsaken, their life seeping into their lands from where they lived.

As I near the village, town, there's shouting, chanting, the stench of burning flesh. Upon view, machetes wield down on many, amidst cries I've unheard of. Limbs now release, torso's tired, fired, my eyes streaming tears for fears. 

In frightened stare, I'm spotted, sadly by my neighbour. He points at me, my heart surges, scared, disturbed by what I've seen. Instinct tells me, run, and I run, Lord do I run.

Upon reaching, fumbling I am for the keys, this image I'd only thought was in the movies. Now where I ask, knowing where I am. For once amidst this, I think, border, which border, as I decide to head East to Tanzania, knowing we have a sister company there.

It's later that day, my eyes now in tears. 

On the news, knowing people I see. Their hacking children, pregnant mothers, fathers and sons.
What's taken this for the Tribes to have undone. I worked with both sides, for many a year. 

I now look back as I'm summoned, to give evidence at the '100 Days of Slaughter'
Caught up I am, to declaring Rwanda's loss, of my Tutsi wife, and our daughters

. 11th Oct 2014.

Copyright © James Fraser | Year Posted 2014

Details | Light Poetry |
Our dialogue is like a book with no end
Pages without numbers a writers friend
The ink in my pen will never run dry
My mind feeding me a constant flow
Visions brought forward places unknown
Emotions explored from crevices below
Delight in the stories and places i see
Together a partnership - perfect harmony
Each turn of our page a newly created phrase
A dance within the sphere of heart and mind
Just like ribbons coloured and intertwined
Our dialogue is but what gives me light

Copyright © Shaz Cheesman | Year Posted 2012

Details | Light Poetry |
Packing bags and leaving home 

Running into the darkness of 
night like a criminal

No destination

Just an escape into freedom 
from the nightmare

Just feeling the sunlight’s breath 
on my cheek freely

A winds whisper touching my 

Running away from dreams and 

Setting an adventure of a 

Running away from the past 
where horror lies

Running away from lullabies and 

Forgetting everything for awhile 

And sit down and breathe in and 
out for awhile

Smelling the freshness of life 
that will no longer exist

Copyright © Alexis Brautovich | Year Posted 2011

Details | Rhyme |
A burning golden river.
A thousand ember dots.
Whose endless waking slivers,
Hide liquid molten knots

A contented purring timbre 
Of viscous weary rock,
Caught in eyes of amber
And weeping molten locks

Its ingot rivlet ripples
Wafting whispers in the air.
Its quaking thunder trickles,
Build shaking sunder mares

Brushing one another,
Aurus tears they bleed
Darkened flesh they smother,
In dripping gilded creed

Burning golden river,
A weaving flame no more
Dusty charred banks quiver
Slaked in starlit gore.


Copyright © Avery Swarthout | Year Posted 2015

Details | Couplet |
Whom do I wish to declare my hero on the Soup For me it's a heroine that made my eyes to look How deep do I have to go to find this poet to be So easy for this guy, for she's stood in front of me This poet is a poetess, for my heart she's now in 2016 will be our year, for our lives to surely begin Within my Poetry Soup peripheral, so many gems So I thank this lovely site, I've found one of them . Written 07/11/2015. Olive Eloisa Guillermo

Copyright © James Fraser | Year Posted 2015

Details | Dramatic monologue |
She's highly sophisticated and full of undefiled wisdom
Yet a crowned Duchess in a paradise kingdom
Quite a beautiful angel flying with black wings
Covered in gold jewelry and precious things
She dresses like the women of ancient Egyptian class
Her wealth is generous and her money grows like grass
She loves orange scented candles with dark room flame  
She rules thirty legions of soldiers and Bune is her name
Her comely warrior voice can wake and relocate the dead
Her armies of soldiers gather around the cemetery
She is brave and deserves a princessly crown on her head
Her facility of speech and flair for words is legendary
A beautiful queen to be treated with respect and honor
Instead of blasphemy,wanton abuse and fictional horror

Copyright © Bill Kim | Year Posted 2013