Staying near to light my way
now that there is no more day
You're needed to so brightly burn
before to black ashes you return
Flames dance high upon your wick
and fall across the well-worn brick
Like those flames once in the hearth
when you go out there is no rebirth
My mind alight with persistent thought
beaming from an inspiration caught
In ink my quill takes another dip
my eyes watch your melting wax drip
Furiously now my script does flow
to finish the lines before out you go
I can do no more, there is no time
my slowing pen can no longer rhyme
The ink still wet, not even dry
as your glow continues to die
Words on the page begin to fade
while creeping darkness starts to shade
Wax and ink overtaken by night
and devours all your candle's light.
Copyright © Kelly Deschler | Year Posted 2016
I wonder if Poe could have known
That his pain would bring him fame?
His words would become his legacy
So the world would know his name
Then there's "Romeo and Juliet"
A Shakespeare contribution
This was written centuries ago
But it's still in distribution
And what about this man named Frost
Known for "A Road Not Taken"
Did he know the fire he'd light inside?
Or the hunger that he'd awaken?
Then there's a man named Whitman
Known for "Song of Myself"
Did he know that these word's he'd write.
Would be a treasure on someone's shelf?
And Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Said, "Let Me Count the Ways"
Did she understand these magical words,
Would bring her so much praise?
I'm sure they'd love to see this day
For it would bring them much delight
They are the heart of our inspiration
And the reason why we write
Copyright © Larry Belt | Year Posted 2010
The best advice came from my hero
since our very first days on the Soup,
he said to me ....be true to yourself
don't try to blend into the group.
When no one wants to write in rhyme
you told me ....write it anyway,
when no one wants to read rhyme,
you said to me ...write it anyway.
If this is your passion, why let it go
all opinions will be hit and miss,
poetry is not what others want you to do
only Heart and Soul make up the artist.
Did Poe try to follow the rest ...oh no
being unique makes any artist great,
perfection is what it is .....to you
only we can control the hand of fate.
So what if we are being a little archaic
by respecting those who came before,
the elders are remembered for a reason
they opened up the modern poet's door.
Thank you for teaching me to believe
because back then I just didn't see,
the talent, the potential, the poet
... that you somehow saw in me.
I have many Poetry Soup heroes....
but this poem is for Chan Hurst, "Just That Archaic Poet" ....RIP
Written on November 10th, 2015
Copyright © Kelly Deschler | Year Posted 2015
Sometimes late at night as we succumb to sleep
We greet creative thoughts beyond those of counting sheep
It’s said Thomas Edison held coins in his hands
That clanged into a bucket noisily as planned
Stirring, he was intrigued by notions for invention
That seemed to emerge from a different dimension
It worked for him and if you enter an alpha state
You, too, may find this source of inspiration great
For it is this exercise of the mind unwinding
That serves to recount the day, subtle reminding
Of the joy you found when beholding a flower
And the thrill of discovering nature’s power
Or the touch of a hand from one who reaches out
When a vulnerable heart is mired in doubt
And the scent of loved ones’ perfume on a pillow
That permits our longing memories to billow
The sounds and tastes of each long day also emerge
As slumber takes charge and begins its nightly purge
So keep a pen and pad at bedside as you retire
Knowing that inspiration is likely to spire
Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2010
Nebulous streams, clouding my brain
hoping my thoughts will fall like rain.
Thunder and lightning mix the brew
stirring the words soon to break thru.
Pressure builds up, clouds turn dark gray
swirling and twirling, find their way,
freeing the weight of thoughts that flow
down from the clouds to grow below.
Falling to weave creative streams
nourishing thoughts into word dreams,
forming soon a landscape divine...
rainbow of poems that are mine.
Sandra M. Haight
Premiere Contest: What Was I Thinking?
Sponsor: Daniel Turner
Rules: Choose one line from sponsor's poem below
and write a poem. I chose his first line.
Between The Lines, by Daniel Turner
Nebulous streams, clouding my brain
Vapor trail dreams, from paper airplanes
Cherry red glow, watch with no chain
Ribbons and bows, tied to the flames
Anchors on strings, hanging from sails
Bells that don't ring, throw down the pail
Falling through cracks, greased by the sale
Hearts made of wax, sent through the mail
Waterfall wishes on stars with no swings
Broken blue dishes stuck to the king
Photos with glitches on invisible wings
Temptation itches on all living things
Copyright © Sandra Haight | Year Posted 2016
I'm only allowed the names of three
so I will write of those that would be for me.
There are so many that this is unfair
but, since that is the rule I must list there:
Carolyn Devonshire who gave me the courage to write
with her words of encouragement on this site.
She always found a "silver lining" in my work,
and never told me that I write like a jerk.
Tho it has been years since I've been around
her help and inspiration never set me aground.
She never left me twisting in the wind alone
as she helped my poorest works to hone.
There is also a Poet Destroyer for whom I have praise
I wish my words to her level I could raise.
Why her "Poet Destroyer" pen name I could never see
unless, of course, you compare mine to her poetry.
Mine is crushed by the words she can write
but I am ever grateful to her for wanting to put mine to flight.
When you have a writer who can put you to shame,
it's only natural that you want to do the same.
CayCay Jennings is my third choice
as she has helped me to "refind" my voice.
I appreciate her critiques of the work I do
all I can give is a big "THANK YOU".
She was one of the first to welcome me back here
and always gave me words of good cheer.
Her suggestions have been given with such grace
sometimes they put a smile on my face.
There is her writing which is also so stellar
as compared to mine, some of which belong in a cellar.
Some of the things she has written down
Have with me, a deeper meaning found.
So these are the three heroes that I must name
but so many more have done the same.
Not only are there poets whose names I could not call
to give them the honors they should have one and all.
Yes, I have heroes here unnamed
because my pen had to be tamed.
But know that I appreciate each and all that you do
Whenever I write, I'm thinking of you.
Copyright © Dan Cwiak | Year Posted 2015
Into my mind the letters chase
All jumbled up, scrabbling for space
Like naughty children in a race
To see who gets the better place
And who’s to choose from that melee
And set them where they ought to be
We hope the Muse will soon INSPIRE
With words to set the brain afire
Copyright © Margaret Foster | Year Posted 2011
2014 Robert Frost Poetry Contest
I am proud to announce once again
I have had the honor and privilege, have had/ had
to be allow to line the trashcan of the allow/allowed
Poetry Judges office at Robert Frost Farms.
An Honor I look forward too next year !
This Year' trashcan liner Year'/year's
The Poet Frost
That poet lived not far from here
But I could not see, nor hear him talk
I read about His chopping wood
And Mending Fences make of rock make/made
I heard that he had pasted away
When many eyes gave birth to tears
I was only six, that fateful day
Now, five more score in years
But through the passing of the seasons
His rhymes and verses have remained
A guiding light, that I find pleasing
And as for this, I count it gain
I did not meet the man called Frost
But know him well, for words he penned
I try sometimes try to think his thoughts
And walk his fields from end to end
I feel his presents, while on his farm Presents/presence
Where nature speaks his sonnets so
With loving hands he planted words
Then stood and watched the poems grow
If I could only farm, like this
to draw from natures inspiration
Then writing poems great like his
Would be my cherished occupation It's no wonder I end up in the can
lesson: Never proof read alone
by JT Curtis
Copyright © Jerry T Curtis | Year Posted 2014
It dances deep in tranquil eyes
from velvet plumes of ether's calm
as soft as alabaster skies
It softly sings an ancient psalm
rewritten when the moon invites
in lavender of evening balm
It gently blooms with conscious slight
in zephyred streams of fragrant dreams
as lilacs waft the night towards light
Upon the page, untraced it streams
It dwells between the words – it seems
Copyright © david mohn | Year Posted 2016
Poems flowing from my heart
Words filling sheets of paper
Feelings pouring through stanzas
Until rhymes make sense
Who says what should be written
Who says what should be felt
Only who writes knows the first
Only who reads capture the last
My words can resonate in some hearts
It can pass unfelt through the rest
It'll grow roots in someone's lives
It'll be ignored by the mass
And that's okay, you see
Because it's impossible to please everyone
I hope who matters will read
And my words will have a life of their own...
November 11, 2016
Copyright © Claudia Polydoro | Year Posted 2016
Alphabet Constructs 3 2 1
Annotated Achilles amends fallen frame amputees
Bulimec Barbies browse media monkey banalaties
Cameo clouds cling to beaded breath curios
Dopamine dreams dilenate check cash desires
Echo endorfins eulogize bullet brain excrement
Fecal folly fantasies reveal relevant frivoloties
Gonadial grownups gulp secret scrotal generosities
Helical hemorriods hinder senior stricken hemocraps
Idiotic ideals idioiosyncrate post partem iconoclasts
Jack Jill juxtapositories seek sexestential jouveniers
Kryptic killer kisses ascot arrogant kingdumbs
Liquid lipid loiners fear frontline lucklullibies
Malovent mommies masterbate rich reflective mommocules
Nevertheless nightengales nourich ruby rich noonbeams
Ovulatory occults outsource torrent tofu outrages
Pensive picses picnics lovelorny passions
Queer quiet quintensials release rancid quotients
Rape ripe residuals nullify nimble reprocussions
Silky seafoam silohouttes fornicate frothy sandlets
Tepid torch trilogies belie beligerent tourniquets
Useless utterences utilize organize orgasmic utopias
Venimous vixens violate cruel.com visions
White willow wombs softly seed hospice hell winds
XY XX xfactors envision extracurricular xraydoms
Yearning yoyo yesterdays calculate clearcovert yeilds
Zen zealous zions mirror maginfy Zoneotones
Copyright © Dave Collins | Year Posted 2013
Cross eyed woman had a nasty fall
after running into a brick wall
she was hit over the head
with a big loaf of bread
while trying to play basketball.
Copyright Cynthia Jones
Copyright © Cynthia Jones | Year Posted 2015
I found poetry soup several years ago,
And it has been a wonderful journey;
Sharing poems of sadness and eternity,
Only here, can I let go of all my emotion.
But treat me with respect so I can grow,
Reponses to my sad writes are wonderful;
But, there are two sides here, one beautiful,
The side where we share poems and words.
With lovely comments like musical cords,
I want support not rules from administration;
And instead of demands give me direction,
And the blog side- well is quite dreadful.
Oh, the beautiful side is where I wish to dwell,
Administration, be fair so I never say farewell.
December 21, 2015
For the contest, Why Are You On Poetry Soup
Sponsor, Jerry T. Curtis
Copyright © Broken Wings | Year Posted 2015
When the river runs dry
When the river runs dry, tears of sorrow fill this poets eyes
The words just won't flow, as the blank page clearly shows
All life dries up as ideas and thoughts they get torn in two
All around us can see it and sense it they feel the sorrow too
For what is life without freedom of thought and it's expression?
All poets like their words to be heard and read without exception
Our Maker well knows our needs, knows us better than ourselves
When the river runs dry, He gives us clean waters found in his well
When we go to him and drink deeply of his fresh waters of truth
Our soul and spirit are invigorated renewed like the days of our youth
Our prayers are answered as copious tears shower down from on high
We drink it all in till we're dripping wet, that's when we understand why
When we rely on ourselves our own thinking from our imperfect minds
That's when there's trouble, the page is blank and so the river runs dry.
John Derek Hamilton
Copyright © John Hamilton | Year Posted 2016
My own piece of heaven, a quiet little nook,
With only the finest parchment in a leather book,
A feather quill pen and an ocean of ink,
My thoughts would never stop to think,
Every single line I write would rhyme,
My poetry would be beautiful and sublime,
I'd be entertained daily, by Dr. Seuss,
And, put to sleep nightly, by Mother Goose,
Lessons from Byron, Shelley, Coleridge and Poe,
Teaching me every single thing that they know.
My own piece of heaven, will have to wait,
Until one day, when I must meet my fate,
So, for now I will have to be content,
With my own words that may be heaven sent,
Inspiration from my idols is all I need,
Writing poetry in a notebook from Mead,
With this cheap, plastic Bic pen,
And a dream to be, just like them.
Copyright © Kelly Deschler | Year Posted 2013
As i stare at this paper
it waits for me to write
so my feelings can be heard
inspiration came often
when we were together
words flowed freely
light as a feather
Fate has a reputation
of never being wrong
it takes destiny by the hand
and grips it forever strong
now this paper
which once was alive
quietly stares back at me
with dull loose leaf eyes
it mocks me
even dares me
to write words i couldn't speak for years
but, without you
the forecast calls for emptiness
with a good chance of tears
Inspiration comes from within
your smile always gave me my start
but these days my pen lay heavy
and so quietly broken
like a roadmap of your heart
for soulmates are rare
to let one go........even worse
now this pen and paper
who once were my companions
are now the very things i curse
So i put my pen down
and tuck the paper away for the night
and maybe tomorrow
words i couldn't speak
i'll be able to write......
Copyright © Kurt Kohls | Year Posted 2010
An inquiry into form
There- Not here?
Start over- A planet and good for YOU! maybe-
'Bigger than a breadbox?
So- vegetable! GREEN like €x spec tations
HERE- n OT THERE?
Not again?! therefore "w€ s€€"?
NO Justa s p a c e (maybe)
with a shape! Like mathematicians?
(they gather in blue confusion) so? l
So a word with a Sumar add dress h
A summer address?
· The cats break-open the weeping kitchen · e
BROWN then like perfect patterns just over t
€ = Q = U = A = L
Copyright © Robert Warlov | Year Posted 2016
I do not know?
Put the toilet seat down.
What woman wants to end up falling into the toilet in the middle of the night?
Stop changing the channel.
Believe me guys, when women are trying to watch a soap opera, you best leave the remote alone.
Put your own dirty clothes in the laundry.
I hate picking up crusty socks.
Stop farting at the table.
Do you mind? I'm trying to eat.
Excuse yourself when you burp.
And they say our children have to have manners.
Roll your own damn cigarette.
When was the last time you rolled me one?
Clean your messes up.
Trust me guys, you're a bunch of slobs.
Don't call me stupid.
We women are just as smart, if not smarter than you are.
Move out of my way.
When a woman is trying to get something done, the man always stands in the middle of the room.
Turn the music down.
I know you guys love your music loud, but sheesh!
The least you guys could do is give us a little privacy in the bathroom.
Do it yourself.
I'm sure you guys are smart enough to do things on your own.
Get it yourself.
Guys, get your lazy, fat butts off the couch and make your own sandwich.
Use your manners.
We don't like being told what to do without a simple please and thank you.
Take your boots off at the door.
Women hate it when men carry dirt into the house after just cleaning the floors.
When we are trying to watch a movie, that means we are trying to hear it too.
Copyright © Cynthia Jones
I know some of these sound mean. No offense guys.
Copyright © Cynthia Jones | Year Posted 2015
RHETORIC LOST COST
I’ve lost more prose Driving in my car,
than I’ve written navigating traffic,
for they often come unbidden poems form like magic.
not minding where. I can’t release the wheel
They haven’t the discipline to make words stick.
to be pen and paper aware. Rhymes won’t congeal
these lines evaporate in air. in my automobile.
Many yell “toilet paper”, Often in the kitchen
I need another kind, poetry takes shape.
oh, so hard to find Should I drop a plate
inside the shower or let water over boil?
when rhymes cross my mind. No, so I hesitate ..
Bathroom poetry hour losing the wordy-roll
defies my writing power. born from within my soul.
Enjoying the outside Drifting off to sleep,
such as beach or lake, laying in my bed,
poems will overtake stanzas fill my head.
my joyous reverie I know they’ll escape
and I must forsake and remain unsaid.
the tune gifting me - My memory won’t cooperate.
let it be, set it free. The lines will disintegrate.
Is it fated error,
is it sad waste,
if words come too late
to be convenient
for me to paste?
Should I resent
them dying unspent?
... CayCay Jennings
August 16, 2015
Copyright © CayCay Jennings | Year Posted 2015
You asked the question ‘What inspired me to start to write’?
The answer is simple; it was my husband’s cancer fight
Never before had I picked up my pen and written a verse
Hated poetry at school, oh writing it was such a curse
Writing poems is now an important part of my life
It takes me away from my worries, troubles and strife
I can write about issues close to my heart
Or create credible poems – now that's quite an art
I have written various forms and am learning every day
To see my name on the winners list I want to shout HOORAY
But winning or losing is not that important to me
Being here has set my creativity and spirit free
Written for Writing Contest sponsored by Regina Riddle
~awarded 1st place~
Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2014
In its quiver,
WHISPERS OF A MUSE - Poetry Contest
24 Nov 2014
Copyright © david mohn | Year Posted 2014
Words should come from the soul
Not just from a pen
That is what should be your goal
So says wise men
Many times there is too much effort put into writing
It should come naturally enough
There shouldn't be too much fighting
Just let the words flow through you
Like the greatest of rushing rivers
The end result I promise you will deliver shivers
Down the spine of the reader
And that is what you want
For your words to be remembered
For yours to be the words that haunt
Writing should be for writing's sake
Not for the sake of any others
Although it is nice to hear the opinion of your brothers
But just remember that writing should come from deep inside
And if it does then pride in yourself will never be denied
Copyright © April Gabriella | Year Posted 2013
That's what I am
A Servant To Poetry
I'm dominated by passion
with Muses spreading their light
I've sacrificed myself
freed myself to be ruled
my total being possessed
by forces that overpower
my actions, thoughts
It's as if I am
alienated from reality
in my own domain
in the zone of an empire
that transcends actualization
as desires are perplexed
by this controlling force
that drives me to performances
delivering unquestioned joy
Copyright © Frank Sheehan | Year Posted 2017
Today I will write about stars-
Not the usual
Not the speckling
In deep sky seen,
Tracked and charted
By singular-minded, bright-eyed teams-
No-I will speak of Real Stars,
Day and night stars-
Never growing dim,
From star-dust within-
Not a glow in cold darkness
Between starlight above
But Mysterious Light
Deeper gazers call Love-
Stars that blink
To illumine the poor,
Have learned by faith
To persist and endure-
Stars who dry
Blanket the cold,
These warm glows
All of God's Fold-
(A mission to give)
Word what they live-
Warring on crime
Disease and despair
Never for profit
Simply to care,
Sacrifices not subject
For peddlers dealing in fame-
But God's Asterisk,
Lighting each name-
This Light is always there-
When one thinks less of taking
And more, to share-
Same Light that shown
From out the tomb,
Giving earth a choice
Between Light and dark gloom-
Light seen brightly
In a new mother's eyes,
Amazed and surprised
That something so radiant
Could come from within,
Not starlight of sky, but Pure Light,
Where all lights begin
Copyright © Joe DiMino | Year Posted 2016
One day I found this really cool web site!
Of all names it is called
It's a place to write
and post all of your poems-
Man, was I thrown for a loop!!!
There are so many poems
to write and to read-
"Will I EVER have enough time???"
there's sonnets and prose,
"what's a kyrielle???"....
and there's so, so many rhymes!!!
Each and every poem
is artistically done
and everyone has so much to say!
They even have a place
where you can turn poems
and you can post at least
"10" per day!!!
A whole new appreciation
for the written word
and has it's moments!
that's given and received
on this site
in a place called
So in being around
such great talent
can truly be drawn,
PLEASE....if I may,
I've just one thing to say....
"Write On To You Poets--
Copyright © Walter T. Ashe | Year Posted 2016
The sun's rays blast through my bedroom window
Filling the room with daily inspiration
To help me brave the new day that's ahead
Knowing obstacles that await are unknown
I will hold my head high and march onward
Making sure to learn all the day's life lessons
So I'll be a better man tomorrow
I'll learn how to be truly selfless and just
For God is the only one that can judge
A world occupied with shame and happiness
Being ripped apart from the outside
I pray I have the time to repent my sins
Before the day of wrecking has arrived
Provoked by our own mistreatment and hatred
For everyone and all things around us
I'm tired and getting older by the second
My life's days steadily fading away
God, please forgive my belated commitment
All my trust I forever give to you
Undeserving I beg for your endless love
I will take full ownership of my shame
In hopes, you'll embrace me with your love and warmth
When my end finally takes me away
Copyright © Jeremy Smith | Year Posted 2017
O' Dear Poets, Let True Pens Dance
O' dear poets, hold sweet and true to thy calls
Let not rejection's dark, lead hearts astray
Not into realms of drought stricken pitfalls
Nor in shallow vessels of weakened clay!
Stay dear poets, with kindness sent this sad world
Keen unto love, hope and mercy's great gifts
Pen to let magnificent words be hurled
In soul's fine music that cheers and uplifts!
O' dear poets, grace us with joyful heart's glee
Dance below moon's gleam cast lights thus given
For these gifts setting us apart and free
Bring us to gates of paradise liven'!
O' dear poets, buckle belts, greet all as friend
We are waves splashing hope until the end!
Robert J. Lindley, 1-05-2017
Syllables Per Line: 10 10 10 10 0 10 10 10 10 0 10 10 10 10 0 10 10
Total # Syllables: 140
Total # Words: 112
Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2017
Copyright © Brian Strand | Year Posted 2008
to the fullest
for it is very short,
we must not be afraid to take
chances so opportunities aren't missed
that can change us for the better
so then were not held back
or even felt
Copyright © Jeremy Smith | Year Posted 2017
you tempt me with beautiful words from nowhere,
convincing me they are my own.
In the corner of my eye, a Muse
& suddenly anything is possible.
You haunt me;
sending visions of dark ink
flowing from poised finger tips.
Finally, i give in,
relenting under high expectations
& promises of genius.
Reluctantly, i put pen to paper
& find that you've moved on.
Copyright © Julie Forbush | Year Posted 2005