When ideas are locked in a cage,
The bot frees poetry of its rage,
Like analgesics on a fresh wound—
A turbulent sea where pains are drowned.
The goal’s not to write, but to refine,
To make each rhythm, form, and word align;
Quick to shape poems to perfection,
Bringing finesse to art’s reflection.
Yet its pen drips with glib emotion,
It revels in stale, putrid notions,
It loots old clichés in broad daylight,
With its spies embedded on every site.
It hums in all ears with tone-deafness,
For its inkwell is void of freshness;
From the poems of the past it steals,
And copyright claims trail its cold heels.
Far better—a creative ally,
With clear, firm bounds to which all comply—
Than crowned as a human replacement,
Or seeking the poet’s mind displacement.
Cold hands of the doctor in gloves and mask
lay her on the hard surgical metal table.
A numb sensation travels down arm to wrist.
Sedation spreads to an EGREGIOUS sin.
Breathing deep through monitored heart rate
eyelids weigh down in heavy haze.
Frills of a DELICATE flower shrivels
as a mother prepares to abort her child.
In OBTUSE position an ultrasound image
still haunts her in false INDIGENT hopes
In slurred words, she sinks in quicksand.
A blissful DELIRIUM of noiseless chatter.
Epiphanies of painless moments
when foggy memories forget to eavesdrop
Nothingness of empty feelings
when clogged synapses trigger only to stop.
Eyes AWAKENING to a bleeding world
find a graveyard heart pumping relentless pain,
and camouflaged stories rehearse in veins.
Promises that could not CONSECRATE
Conflicts that could not MEDIATE.
An Indifference that was worse than hate.
The nurse says ,' Do you need anything? '
She needed analgesics...she needed amnesia.
She craves, "Can you put me back to anesthesia?
29th August 2019
Sponsor John Hamilton
Contest Name Eight word challenge 9
i read indulgence mid scripted words
breaking all the rules and then some,
what be greater than gutting & swallowing
uttermost concentration of language
critically consummated or otherwise,
communing within written ideologies
something profoundly reverent or
perhaps deliberate liberating nonsense,
nonetheless commonsensical compunction to
the discerning foresightedness of poets
& enduring escape artists 'tween psyche's
hallucinations & declarations
about analytically anomalous analgesics
and mellisonant melancholy metonymy,
rising above the fray of brutally alliterated
annotations fragmenting & fracturing dimensions,
steel blades sharpening anthologies' imperfect isms
inferring resoluteness 'tween deductive reasoning,
willing exposure imparting quintessential bollocks
literally grasping mercilessly melded metaphors
courageous enough to virtually be aptly bled,
plunged beneath swords' inky touchstones
Hey PeotrySoup Members xD . This is my first ever poem on the site (: . Check out (:
Talking ,smiling and sharing
Drugging the other as the blessing
Filling one's heart with hope
Without risking of any guessing
We are the one's behind the shades,
Working our way up the better stairs,
Grabbing info of the cause,
Providing every tiny detailed care,
Like analgesics for pain,
CNS stimulants for brain,
Everything we’ve ever learnt
Doesn’t goes in vain,
Wearing the white coats with smiles,
Paying attention & aiding to perfection ,
Making our ways to cure & heal
We are PHARMACIST by profession.
Chocolate coloured and glistening,
Large eyes in a larger head,
Skin stretched tight,
So young
Looking so old.
Flies dancing and settling.
No light in the gaze.
As the camera draws back,
A distended belly comes into shot
Above spindly legs
Against a blue sky
Drenched in sunshine.
We pull back and scrape our plates
Into the garbage.
We deaden our pain
With reality shows
And other trivial pursuits.
Our minds burn,
The wounds remain.
Our analgesics
Are all in vain.
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.