Past every known horizon, held inside the stolen light,
A flicker of promise rises, wet with Aegean’s salt.
The echo of Mount Parnassus, where the Muses walk at night,
A spectrum of reflections—the first Promethean signal, sharp and high.
The flames are finally free from the chill of the earth.
It pulses through sapphire-blue data cables, beneath the sea.
A swift code humming on an electric tongue, a wire thin as glass,
Where silicon and soul now challenge mortal walls.
The warmth upon my palm, a fragile circuit’s heat,
A digital dawn breaks now, on seas of light where ancient stone dissolves.
A frequency rings through the gulf of years,
The world's true voice, unsynchronized, is fiercely held and heard;
Through every force of nature, this bright pulse speeds on fiber-optic lines.
We seize the future's turning, watching the past unwind,
This hard-won wisdom guides the human quest for freedom.
Against the dark tyranny that starves the seeking mind,
The truth we need is held deep inside the spirit of mankind.
I never bear my secrets on the skin of my body.
I bear my secrets in my life's anthologies of poetry.
I bear my love within words of my narratives of he and me.
Marietta Georgia the beginning
and the end of poetry soup as we
knew it today we are swamped by ads
investors buying web domains inventing
shenanigans amidst their very own
motives creating fake accounts all
under the same foundations gathering poets
to allow poems to be featured in anthologies
now is the time for all great poets to come
to the aid of their country to write or
not to write that is the question
Suspense is a thing worth not knowing
Dying for the knowledge of the mystery
From novice to brainiac ever flowing,
Slipping into the dark annals of history.
Shudders at the noise of victims’ crying
Suspense is a thing worth not knowing,
Keeping chilblains on the skin denying
Revealing information ne’er extolling.
Red herrings by the hundreds growing
In long heralded stories not so mastered
Suspense is a thing worth not knowing,
Fabled tales of untamed roguish bastards.
Best sellers from all leather anthologies
With black ravens and murderous crowing,
Translated to filmdom with no apologies
Suspense is a thing worth not knowing.
Written June 1, 2022
I really believe poetry contests are beneficial
But I find myself writing lines so artificial
Trying to win a fleeting notice or score a trophy
That I lose sight of writing good, quality poetry.
Various requirements sometimes put me off
I think I’d rather be on the links playing golf
Instead of spending hours cramping my style
Writing a poem that might only bring a smile.
I desire to write some memorable, quality lines
Not limited to theme, or odd-prompt, confines
And think I’ve written something that will last
Even coveting a rare place with greats of the past.
Of course, I know the best wrote some apologies
That only a few of their poems made anthologies
Many never read until the poet was long gone
We never saw those poems meriting only a yawn.
So, I’m going to turn over a new leaf and see
If writing poems I like makes for a happier me
Entering only contests accepting the poems I write
Instead of writing poems a “sponsor” will cite.
written October 29, 2021
We never met, although we planned
to make our dream come true;
the will was strong, the body weak…
and then you bid adieu
when angels came and took your hand
(I called your name in vain).
You left this vale for pastures new
where peace replaced your pain.
Carolyn passed away, but her unconditional friendship and kindness,
together with her gift of words will never be forgotten. She was one
of the first to welcome me to Soup, and we bonded from the start.
We co-wrote several poems, some of which were published in
various anthologies. She will forever hold a special place in my heart.
Awarded POTD 5th August 2021
I listen to the sighing
of the wind, as I sit
in the cool shade
of a sprawling carob tree,
wondering if Basho,
in heavenly abode,
next to Elysian Fields,
is mumbling agitatedly
under his breath – possibly
grimaces, wrings his hands
as he flips the pages of
vain anthologies where
writers sell their wares…
Stuck in comfort zone
deprived of achievement,
wary of new horizons,
surprise ends and twists…
they cling to restrictions
and Mother Nature’s skirt.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Pareidolia Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Craig Cornish
© 24th August 2020
This is a poem about books
Not just books,
But what happens between us and books
Our relationship with books
To some-
They’re only stacks and stacks of a series of words
To some-
They are their teachers when no teachers are around
To some-
They are like the family they never had
To some-
They are the keys to adventures waiting to be found.
Books, books and books!
I see storybooks,
textbooks,
revision books,
comic books,
Novels and anthologies
Vicissitude in ideologies!
Reading is an action of exploring-
The mysterious conflict of a detective in an action novel
Reading could also be
Testing your know-how on hard, heinous, words that make you grovel!
In books-
Of profound love and allegory I found a letter by the beach
Read about the grief and sorrow of a widowed man
I trailed a rabbit down a hole and got lost in a dream
Fought and slew a dragon, I’m the hero of Wonderland!
Sure, of course!
You might get tired of it
After all, it’s human nature
To take action, put an end to it.
28/03/2020
In the Arctic, the skilled technique and art of building an inukshuk is passed down through generations of Inuit tradition.
a proud lineage
a compass
~ in the setting sun
Published in my photo/haibun anthologies ~PRIMITIVE~ 2019 and ~ANCESTRAL VOICES~ 2019
AP: Honorable Mention 2026, Honorable Mention 2023
Embodying the human spirit, the inukshuk can serve as a spiritual symbol, a ceremonial site, a place of worship, a place of judgment and decision making or a site to gather and celebrate. Regardless of their function, inuksuit are venerated by the Inuit for their history and ancestral value.
sacred touchstone
hub of present and
generations past
Published in my photo/haibun anthologies ~PRIMITIVE~ 2019 and ~ANCESTRAL VOICES~ 2019
AP: Honorable Mention 2020
To the discerning eye of Inuit travelers, hunters and whalers, the inukshuk communicates pivotal counsel on safety and danger.
guiding posts
~ marbled voices of
ancestor spirits
Published in my photo/haibun anthologies ~PRIMITIVE~ 2019 and ~ANCESTRAL VOICES~ 2019
AP: Honorable Mention 2020
Inuit inuksuit (plural of inukshuk) are still often built as navigational aids pointing to mainland or significant transition points between water and land routes.
moonlit relief
showing
the path home
Published in my photo/haibun anthologies ~PRIMITIVE~ 2019 and ~ANCESTRAL VOICES~ 2019
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
Deeply rooted in the Inuit culture, stacking rocks in human form is the concrete altruistic way to communicate and assist by giving direction to travelers who may be in distress or distraught in the big white desert of the North.
alone
adrift and lost
~ finding you
Published in my photo/haibun anthologies ~PRIMITIVE~ 2019 and ~ANCESTRAL VOICES~ 2019
AP: 3rd place 2020
It’s hard to imagine a distant time when man was self-sufficient, needing to go hunt for his family’s food. Him against nature. Alone and on a mission. Up north, an inukshuk pointed the way to a good fishing spot or where meat was cached. Its longest arm pointing to the closest village.
solitary~
voice of predecessors
ringing clear
Published in my photo/haibun anthologies ~PRIMITIVE~ 2019 and ~ANCESTRAL VOICES~ 2019
AP: Honorable Mention 2020
Deep rooted symbol in the Inuit culture, the inukshuk is rudimentary, primitive but effective communication. Through centuries, it is still a practical directional marker used as vital hunting and navigation aids, coordination points, indicators, and message centers.
remote voice
shattering the silence
of hesitation
Published in my photo/haibun anthologies ~PRIMITIVE~ 2019 and ~ANCESTRAL VOICES~ 2019
AP: Honorable Mention 2020
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.