The poet apologizes to Donovan
Thrown like a fly on the wall
It's sixty years since his last call
Who would have thought we would see
The ending of democracy
When will the Hurdy Gurdy Man, come singing songs of love…
Not learning from histories past
Abdicating power fast
Self-rule is not certainty
Despots don’t serve humanity
When will the Hurdy Gurdy Man, come singing songs of love…
A lonely wind tells me its secrets
Treats me to its scented memories
Apologizes for its inconsistencies
While hiding in a slow rising fog
She claims she is but a pawn
Held hostage by the sun and sea
Warm vapors stir the forming clouds
Icy waters chill the air below
The battle sweeps her into its path
Spins her in a tornadic dance
An unseen sun calls the devils tune
A drumroll as warming waters roil
And yet her sister lifts a falling leaf
Sets it gently on a chilling lawn
Riffles the marching rows of corn
Colors the cheeks of school bound children
Thus, she bids a hurried farewell
For stillness is the harbinger of fate
On leaving blows an icy kiss
As friends arrive in hoar frost coats
Little trinket gather on her nightstand.
Each holding powerful memories.
The cowbell decorated with colors,
from her once so dear football team.
It's always been louder than others,
showing through with a prideful beam.
The hand painted rock,
with the sun and white fluffed clouds,
serves as a key to a lock,
to a time her voice was outspoken and loud.
The blue rubber duck,
a dear friend gifted.
It reminds her of her luck,
because she couldn't have had a friend more fitted.
The small rubber bracelet, that a group had
made. She wishes to see them again.
The small doll with a big heart,
a pass love had given her.
She apologizes every night.
she holds these memories close,
For they are so dear to her heart.
She dreams with them near,
and she has no fears.
Empty apologizes
Heartless words
Killing me mentally-till Its all blurred
Pulling me away from everything I know
Telling me you love me
But your words cut straight to the bone
Taking your time letting me cry
Hoping one day we run out of time
Why won't you ever let me say goodbye
Let me go...let me leave
I'm begging on my knees
Please please please
Don't keep me here
Let me face my fears
Please let me out
Im drowning in my tears
Emotional abuse till my days are through
Seeing red across the room
You drug me through the dirt
Just to feel alert
Empty apologizes
Heartless words
Killing me mentally-till Its a blurred
Choa looks up from his nets
ready to wave to his friend Thi
But Thi is late to the river today
Choa calls to Simb, wondering about it
Simb is not worried, he saw Thi yesterday
All is well, he assures him
These fisherman have a morning routine
Calling to each other every day
Today it is not the same
until Thi arrives
He apologizes for being late
Scaring Choa
A Found Poem from the Bing Homepage
Earns record-breaking medal,
a boxer apologizes, is sad,
wins US Senate primary.
Campaign raises $138.7M,
to lay off 15% of workforce,
US launches antitrust probe.
Child sex abuse sentence,
Utah abortion ban halted,
net neutrality rules blocked.
Rain showers,
a Christian petition rebuking,
conservative attacks receive thousands.
50 icons famous after they died,
Charlamagne tha God on racial attacks,
'I don’t give a damn.'
The 1-ingredient upgrade for eggs,
complete fantasy,
a Western movie brutally assessed.
Egyptian women’s beach volleyball team,
slams French hijab ban after Olympic match,
Kamala Harris's lucky break.
A single error in judgment,
A glimpse of time that follows us,
Generation to Generation.
This clouds our DNA, forcing legacies,
Against fathers and sons,
Brother against brother.
Decisions made,
Apologizes ignored,
Forgiveness asks, and answers become silent.
Those decisions are unforgivable.
God's law, but is it man's law?
Many do not understand,
Others don't care.
Families are broken,
Never to be repaired,
Abels murder,
Cains regret, and,
A debt we can never forget.
She sits patiently, trying to keep her face appreciative
As he crones a love song; his sincerity obvious.
He is not a great singer, but his heart is fully in it.
He loves her, and that is what matters, right?
Her face must have given something away.
“I’m not that great a singer,” he apologizes.
“You are my everything,” she assures him.
He sings the last verse with a bit more confidence.
Myth of Forgiveness
a self-righteous illusion
a stepping-stone on the path of love and truth
Apology is judging
judging as not being a part of divine order
judging oneself and another
whatever people apologizes for
a guarantee to perpetuate
things will keep repeating
Forgiveness
put someone down
make someone wrong
presume to judge and pardon
things will keep repeating
Transcend Forgiveness---
Thank you for giving me this experience
victim no longer
just lesson in love
Forgiveness is a self-righteous illusion
Go beyond forgiveness
Be present with What-Is
Everything serves
Serve well as a Light
There is nothing to forgive
another myth
Truth Requires No Forgiveness
Hurt no more
The reason of the poet is always the better,
Following his steps is reassuring
He sees peace in the fields of poppy or gold
He sees the horizon above the uncertain roofs,
Read the future beyond the mountains of Olympus,
He knows when he’s wrong, he’s crying
And apologizes to the saints or antic goddess
The sound of cannons makes him doubt you,
He only fights the world with books,
He believes the bees, when he shares the honey,
He thinks about, and love the world for better time.
Power-house kid mixes milk and some FLOUR
with dirt; he's planning a really big FLOW'R.
He is OUR young grandson and hopes to see
within the HOUR (or less) a dumpling tree.
I explain: DUE to the dawn's heavy DEW,
the ground apologizes: "No can DO!"
She knows every member of her beautiful family,
and she's eager to call each of them by name.
She knows their gift and how to best use them.
She calls the ARTIST to beautify the landscape;
to paint those golden colors of leaves in the trees
that overwhelms us with the wonders of God's creation.
The season of Autumn reminds the TREES that their shady
chores are done and beckon them to release their leaves
to be blown in the wind, creating scenes and signals of Fall.
She waves to her gentle giant in the sky and whispers words
of calm and poise for the SUN to lower its temperature. She
calls upon the ATMOSPHERE to create the feel of a holiday and
festivity; to unveil the spirit of gratitude and merriness. she
acknowledges imperfection and apologizes for deadly storms.
100522PSCtest, A Brian Strand Premiere Choice Poetry
Money does not walk anymore.
It talks as if he were a dead best friend
that has let me down.
I want to nudge it
send it to loved ones
with a note saying:
"sorry this is all the talk I got."
Benjamin Franklin has closed his eyes
he stubbles a hundreds time a day
often into the wrong hands,
I don't even speak to him now.
Grant apologizes
for his shabby appearance,
and how he cannot now stretch
500 dimes.
A 2 Thousand year old mummy -
worth money
haunts dollar store shops
seeking Lincolns grave,
I could answer that;
it's now in my pocket
buried deep.
An actor returns to his Beverly Hills mansion –
blows his brains out with a 38 special.
I must have dozed off,
cops at my door,
a line of chain-smoking flashbulbs
in baggy turn-ups.
I watch myself being taken away in a body bag.
The movie is badly spliced.
Black Packard’s keep morphing into flying saucers.
We are all wearing hats,
even the writers in the backroom
are wearing wide-brimmed hats.
The women are wearing hats.
They wear pencil thin skirts,
and talk out of the side of their mouths.
A screen flickers;
a skinny man behind an obscuring microphone
apologizes for the delay.
Meanwhile, space aliens have landed in Brooklyn,
and are exterminating people in hats.
It’s a radio show hoax,
but I don’t know that –
until I wake-up
into a world filled with terror and chaos,
there are no aliens and few brimmed hats.
I can’t sleep.
Sorry officer, the old lady apologizes as she is stopped for speeding.
Her Chevy is rocking out to seventies music
A debonair old geezer in a sports car blows past them
going at least a hundred and ten
Officer looks exasperated.
Gets on walkie talkie
No answer.
Jumps on motorcycle and takes off
Woman texts her husband “Thanks sweetie!”
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.