You know, poetry can be fun too --
not all need be melancholy blue.
Not all need be broken-heart,
brain surgery trying to restore
a logical missing part –
destabilizing like an ingrown fart (whatever).
With common aches we need
to break. Why not also poetry, for goodness
sake?! Light verse is not necessarily
better nor worse. Not all poetry
need roll like a hearse. Poetry can
be happy and sad – So, for this
day I play – from sad I seek world
redemption I pray! Smile for self as well as
for God I say!
She gave me material life
walked slippery shadows to prison
to deliver a sad weekly parcel
fear was ingrained into dna
almost forever did I serve these embeds
until she called in envious siblings
Light would not submit to a wall of war
I stopped being minute maid in an instant
___________________________
Bronze Placement : All Poetry Contest
(Theme : Shadows into Light : March 26)
Fly shadow fly
seeking another apple on outskirts of stages
I will not move unanswered
Powerful
is my name
Shadow flies whimpering
hosting another cloud filled with longing rhythms
an audience seeking crystal droplets
Showering
like young poets
Seeking another apple
pear found instead, the bite poor verse
whisper into tangled plaited hair
Paperwork
to translate longing
Outskirts of stages
I did not move upon a shore
there lies my reddened core
Shivering
a no return
Search no longing
sigma waves seek to moisten dry throat
they float only my apple
Exposure
for your tongue
__________________________
[ Poet’s Notes : Eliska Form :
5 lines in each Stanza
3 / 7 / 5 / 1 / 3 words per line.
Line 4 constraint:
3 or more syllables ]
Honourable Mention :
All Poetry Contest
March 26
truth, a specific view of reality
it appears before persons at a given moment
it is not static and cannot be measured
in a laboratory
each individual score is different
as every perceived phenomenon is specific
truth is time bound according
to one mindset frequency within a set framework
truth is always connected
to convenience for wit as best position
based on individuals heeded comfort
convenience and conviction
one scoop can sword another
face can be beautiful or unsavoury
since truth is pliable it is easily
bent by egoic mind as positioning moves
its nature and clarity is not rooted
in material mirrors
moves from waves beyond time-space
ability to touch truth as purity
indicated on spiritual station
being both measurable and unmeasurable
diffused by gospel stories
it can't be captured within single framework
by set groups of labelled individuals
remaining unbound to space
free from human law
individual truth is presence coloured
as fact for material conveniences
________________________
BRONZE PLACEMENT: ALL POETRY CONTEST
MARCH 26
colourful pansies giggled with rosy cheeks
so like them were you inviting
no innocent flower enticing into bower
wise woman with spell laden books
neatly lined, in an outfit so divine
and in a corner next to oil lamp
beckoned your goddess refined
alive in calling frame gilded solid
come into white linen where
serpentine I will attuned you mine
candles flamed in gentle desire
holy and mundane sweetly attired
scrolls from Lemuria and Atlantis
their musicality danced with breasts
circling black hat as your test
aah, witch, my beloved pitch I long
for that dim room of angelic song
trees peeping in eventide breeze
cedar essences in decanters to
please, blouse loose with ease
let your wand take me into clove light
chequered with autumn leaves so bright
will I but connect to protect white loaves
red-haired apricot mystic witch invites
nipples harden anticipating a short delight
[Honorable Mention: All Poetry Contest: Feb 26
Whispy breeze giggles with ease
cool is rippled river clear
willows weep not as we lovingly tease
rainbow trout jumping, a catch
will be dear
Our porcelain legs, arms encircle loose
larks, butterflies flutter around scented spruce
eyes holding sacred stars from Venus and Mars
we left picnic basket in homing stars
Family wondering whether catch will be salmon
then no need for ordinary dinner gammon
my arms so strong, I’m the provider
always beside her, sister the flowery
insider !
O~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~O
[ Painting: Original Title: La pêche à la ligne
ARTIST : FRANCOIS BOUCHER
Date: 1752
Style: Rococo
Genre: pastorale
Media: oil, canvas
Location: Grand Trianon, Paris, France
Dimensions: 150 x 188 cm ]
____________________________________
2nd Placement: Premier Contest
Sponsor: Brian Strand : March 26
Silver Digital Trophy : All Poetry Ekphrasis
Contest : March 26
all poetry is the place I go to be the real me
words I cannot say are easily slipped into conversations here
because they are one-sided conversations
the conversation of one
all poetry is the only site I use nearly every day
I am lured here by my desire to see who read me and why
what they have to say
whether or not they liked my stuff
I am addicted to this site
it is cheaper than drugs or liquor drinks
and I don’t have to throw anything up at night after I am here
As long as it remains a delight, I will be a fan.
So far, so great.
opposite poles tune attraction
contracted manifestation
questing abstracted refraction
passions spin and spar ~
penetrating fallacies deep
climax stellar tasks in gem sleep
chemistryprem pulls, hugs and shrugs bleep
and yet here we are …
[ Third Place Win : Premier Contest : Feb 26
Honorable Win : All Poetry Contest : Feb 26 ]
Happened upon by chance…
The folly that a PS ‘poet’ plagiarized his contest theme, word for word, from an All Poetry poet.
We steal from the mouths of strangers,
pluck vowels like fruit from someone else's tree,
and call it harvest.
Call it homage.
The dead speak louder than we do,
their sentences polished smooth by a thousand tongues,
worn into grooves we trace with our own breath.
I lift a phrase like lifting a stone from a river,
still wet with another writer's meanings,
and press it into the architecture of my own grief.
"To the well-organised mind, death is but the next great adventure.”
But whose mind?
Whose death?
The words belong to everyone now,
to no one, a key passed hand to hand until the metal warms,
until we forget who first turned the lock.
Perhaps all poetry is borrowed,
each word a ghost we summon,
each line a seance where the living learn to speak
in the voices of those who wrote the world before us.
Color my World with Hope and Love
***Jade ribbon award's All Poetry
Color my world with the bluest sky
And the twinkling of admiration
in a small child's eyes
Color my world as a reddest
rose in the garden of delights
in a secluded world hidden
from the shadowy nights
Color my world with the wings of
a snow white dove's
world of hope, peace and love
Golden sunlight
and gentle misty rain drops.
Love as always,
Roxanne Lea Dubarry
Roxy Lea 1954/ October Country
October 2025
Blossom Monyei is a poet, potentially from Liberia, as indicated by references to the Liberia Poetry Association and poems published within Facebook groups for spoken word and poetry according to All Poetry and Facebook groups. he has written poems like "Faded", "The Distance Peaks of love", and "Unshaken". One of his poems, "Sin," is available on All Poetry according to All Poetry.
Here's what is known about his work based on the provided search results:
"Faded": A poem that explores themes of value and loneliness, particularly in the context of success.
"The Distance Peaks of love": A poem that depicts a love interest separated by a great distance.
"Sin": A poem that reflects on struggles with faith and temptation.
"Unshaken": Another poem by Blossom Monyei, suggesting a theme of resilience.
"Liberia Poetry Association": The phrase "Liberia Poetry Association" appears in the context of the poem "Sin," indicating a possible connection to the Liberian literary community.
"Blossom Monyei - poet at allpoetry"
a
poetic
girl
dedicated
& creative
with
a love
for all poetry
beautiful
from birth
a born poet
writing
in crayon
then pencil
then pen
storyteller of
words
with
a bleeding pen
Your ‘calling’ strings you out
into a gospel
of all that you were and are.
A written scripture scrolls on.
You are a witness. The poet that watches,
the one who shows up late in your own story,
diverse scribes feed you shape-shifting words
from the collective works of
other visionaries.
Every image has its alter-image.
This gospel of ‘you’
can gossip over a trivial landscape,
yet all is elemental and intrinsic
to an all-inclusive manifesto.
These secret teachings are parables,
allegory and metaphor,
revelations discovered by few or many.
Word of mouth becomes a testament
one woven by a history
of observers and spectators,
they scribble down both the immaterial
and the substance of reflections,
then hammer them into flowing water
where all poetry is enshrined.
Am I the only one,
Who got done,
By those who we need to shun,
And on their head give a thousand curses,
When my copy of Radiant verses,
Contained no radiant verses,
As when I opened the cover,
I was only to discover,
Something else under the cover,
That was definitely not radiant,
That caused me to rant,
As to read about Narcissist's over Christmas,
Is not what I need on this or any other Christmas,
Thanks to those who badly need to go to mass,
For taking radiant covers,
And changing what is inside the covers,
To upset all poetry lovers and their mothers'.
This really happened and I am pissed off,
As I hate signing off,
On any poem with a note that is sour,
When with poetry I like to empower,
You with words that are never dour.
Sub Categories
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.