I refuse to dwell
in the shadows,
live in the shadows
write in the shadows
Victim poetry!
Perpetrators read
our entries, our posts,
delight in their
enduring power
keeping attached
letting go is liberation
while bitterness, hatred,
desire for revenge is a spirit
anchor
let the heart elevate,
levitate to Divine Light
and presence – Heaven
has no victims, open arms
welcomes back all souls
willing to forgive and love….
NO COMPASS OR ANCHOR
….At sea
also known as my life, I drift.
I dream of wanting to have a
plan but I don’t. Letting down
people, not quite grasping
opportunities.
For I am a
non-commissioned
ensign of a boat in a storm lost
without its compass
or anchor.
I have passion and the drive
however I am fettered to a
chunk of seaweed.
It smells. It rots.
It becomes a part of me.
Oh the distant sunrise of a new day
is so far on the horizon it may as well be a grain of sand.
Small, minuscule, measly and insignificant.
Just like my remains of a past plan
long ago stranded on a desert island.
At sea also known as my life,
I drift….
my anchor was ripped
but not forgotten again
he is guard goodly
(Weekly Magnetic Poetry Challenge • July 13–19, 2026)
The morning sun awakens in
your eyes,
And banishes the shadows of
the night,
The golden beams illuminate
the skies,
To fill my quiet world with
sudden light.
No treasure held within the
deepest sea,
Nor silver moon that sails the
midnight air,
Can match the peace your
heart brings to me,
Or compare to a grace so
pure and rare.
Through every shifting
season, cold or warm,
Your gentle hand remains my
steady guide,
A silent refuge from the
wildest storm,
When I am standing safely by
your side.
As long as stars shall walk the
endless sky,
My heart is yours, until the
oceans dry.
Love is the quiet strength
that carries us across the oceans."
My anchor spot on, where I’m rooted, in the midst of the sea.
Blue skies blather above me, shimmer of sun, birds fly, fish swim.
Beyond bulkheads, undertow, the spirited treasures arise.
deep roots hold
a quiet strength
old tree
firmly planted
the boughs reach for lights
fruits will f
a
l
l
seeds stir
life begins
they grow
through the years
breath by breath
stronger than before
a story told in skin
o n e...
heart beats in the dark.
My love is not a wave that hits the shore,
And then recedes to leave the sand behind;
It’s deep, unfathomable ocean floor,
A lasting peace that you will always find.
When you are old and filled with quiet dreams,
And look back on the days of fleeting youth,
You’ll find my love is stronger than it seems,
A steadfast, bright, and everlasting truth.
No distance can divide what we have made,
No silence can destroy our whispered vow;
Our love is stronger than the willow’s shade,
A timeless, pure, and everlasting now.
When all is gone, and nothing else is true,
You’ll find me waiting, anchored fast to you.
So, am I pulling you down?
Or holding you in your place?
Sinking to a new low?
And keeping you locked in space?
Are you in need to move on?
Longing to drift in the breeze?
Catch yourself a new wave?
And get up off of your knees?
But why do you want to drift?
Just where do you want to roam?
Can’t you stay here with me?
And make this spot into home?
Is this thing not what I am?
Is this place not where we are?
I am keeping you safe…
No need to reach for a star…
One day you will let me go.
Into the depths I’ll descend.
And then you will move on.
Our time together will end.
But, while you’re sailing along,
With freedom as your new norm,
You will remember me,
Who kept you safe from the storm.
October arrived with a cold, clinical weight. I remember the sharp edge of my car keys pressing into my palm as I walked to the parking lot, the Oklahoma sky suddenly blurred. In that silence, I wasn't a person, just a diagnosis-until I opened the app, a glow in the dark of the front seat. The cursor blinked like a heart monitor, waiting for the "why" to finally become a syllable.
Then, the first line broke the surface. I found a rhyme for the ache, a metaphor for the strength I didn't know I held. On PoetrySoup, the chaos began to settle into stanzas; each poem was a small victory over the shadows, a way to reclaim my body through my voice.
I wasn't just writing into the dark. I read the verses of strangers turned kin-others who had weathered their own storms. In their comments and their cadences, I found a sanctuary where I wasn't "the patient," but a poet, standing whole among the words. This is my life raft: a community of ink that kept me afloat when the tide was high.
Running towards
self driven passion,
I rock the boat filled
with past anchors,
and I tied them down
with beckoning ropes,
inviting dear life
to resist the restraints
placed by overbearing
mothers and fathers.
Contusions earned
by pondering along
rapid waves but
the breeze is mutual
as I welcome all
that comes my way.
No longer caught
in the nets of
imprisonment,
I set sail letting go,
without holding back,
as life is a tidal wave
carrying you across
back and forth
to destinations
unknown,
forthcoming
endlessly.
To the one who held me when I fell,
My anchor when the tempests swelled.
Through stormy seas, you were my guide,
With you, I’ve never felt the tide.
My rock, my light, my dearest friend,
My love, my heart, until the end.
Without you, I’d be lost, adrift,
For you, for us—my heart’s true gift.
branches bend in the wind
leaves flutter a frantic wave
petals curl into themselves
while the intricate web
holds it all together
The waters no longer hot, just a cold depthless sea.
The young girls shackle was a perfect miraculous fit.
dragging her to the depths of the shallow box;
the anchor that would sit.
Her locks of hair were dripping-
a drip for all her anguish,
that would send the box spilling.
Thus she stayed silent,
pop, bam, bang for every bubble that popped-
a new batch would flock.
Lifting up her arms in despair,
she looked at the radiant circle.
It wasn't fair.
The circle bulged created by man,
but she couldnt even use her hand-
to get out of the cell, it would be a bore.
For she had the capacity for no more,
She wailed and cried and still couldn't thrive.
For her smile was deprived.
Was the bath ever even hot?
or had she forgot-
to turn the tap and make it hot.
sea is turbulently stormy this darkened night
eyes watch in awe, wonder and fright
anchor secured holds passenger ship tight ~
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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.