A haunting hallway of portraits,
introspections of who I once was,
multiple players in various roles,
is the true person here? Can one find the woman
intended to be before life harshly assaulted me?
A parody or a performance or, perhaps, a caricature,
a study in twisting realities,
does a genuine being manifest here?
Suddenly shattered glass reveals
the scarred reflection that truly is me.
Nette Onclaud, sponsor
Finish In Ten Contest
Date of poem - June 30, 2026
Social critic, Gershon Wolf
has been known to joke and spoof
But at a meeting of TV execs today, he was dead serious
And here’s what he told them – if you’re curious
Where is wholesome TV programming today
or something vaguely familiar anyway
We need family shows like ‘Andy of Mayberry’
where everyone teases and tortures ‘Poor Deputy Barney’
Or ‘Leave it to Beaver’ where Eddie Haskell steals every show
Kissing up to Ward and June, a sickeningly polite fellow
And how about ‘the Three Stooges,’ where real culture
is assaulted by three execrable humanoid vultures
Now, I hear one of you is bringing back ‘You Bet Your Life’
a show about a mean man’s negative outlook on life
Anyone game for Nazified fare like ‘Hogan’s Heroes’
or totally inept and stupid, ‘like Archie Bunker’s Zeroes’
Can't wait for the new 'Re-run Season'
Featuring Pee Wee Herman and Lassie! ~ 'tis bound to be pleasin'
Football’s not a game, it’s a weekend war
Baseball’s a battle a day, myriad games played
Business is cutthroat competition
‘Dog-eat-dog’ ~ every man for himself
Hollywood and hospitals: grapevines
like lightning, with stab-in the backers
Computer systems assaulted by malware and hackers
No easy answers to a world at war
No one questioning what life is for
A tickling in the nose that likes to tease
is the strange phenomenon - the sneeze,
but sneezes in succession cause unease,
especially accompanying a wheeze.
Just think of someone swung from a trapeze,
reaching for two arms, and assaulted by a sneeze!
At eighty miles an hour when we sneeze (Jeeeez),
viruses escape into the breeze!
So if one day a winter's cold should seize
possession of the chest 'neath your chemise -
when I visit, keep a hanky handy, please,
and I shall say "God bless you," should you sneeze!
this tofu combo is quite spicy.
it would be a bit much for lovers of poetry.
my grandmother could neither read nor write,
but she knew what to do with dead bodies.
at my son's football, a friend's mother is telling me about her start-up company
i ask how it's going
"it's too early to tell."
"like the french revolution?"
but the absolute brass neck of the perpetrator
who could have orchestrated such a terrible crime?
i wonder if the victim has got a percussion
maybe it's a cymbal of things to come
i'm in a homemade hamster wheel
trying to cross the ocean
In every pairing there is always the chance
Of mutation, pushing forward
Or genetically thrown back
To something now dormant
But still timelessly valuable,
Unintended consequences of evolution
Unlikely and even unwanted.
After all times change, values change
Yet human nature remains the same.
Every time someone is wronged
Murdered, assaulted, abused and cheated
Of course there are victims
And of course the fear/hate of revenge
Retribution and justice is stirred up,
But also in every harm is an opportunity
For insight and compassion
And true compassion embraces all.
Perhaps the greatest insight
Is that love, not hate, is foundational to Life.
And love is more mysterious and profound
And yet immediate and knowable
Than we can ever know.
In every act, loving or hateful,
There is a chance to see the play of Life unfolding.
(10/11/25)
Witness on the sidewalk,
lives defending life,
some youth, some middle age,
and elderly.
Praying out loud or silently,
God hears them and
He blesses them defending
His unborn lambs.
I would stand there too in
front of the abortion clinic,
til arthritis made it difficult.
We faced much hostility,
we were cursed at,
some threatened,
nationally and in other
countries,
some of us physically assaulted.
But no matter where we are-
our prolife prayers will not be
struck down,
witness on the sidewalk,
lives defending life. ~
they chain you up
strip you down
the lights never go off—
just the screams shift
to new throats.
the guards play blind,
or worse, they bet
on who breaks first.
some poor bastard
bleeds in the shower
and another one
learns not to cry too loud.
this place doesn’t correct—
it cultivates.
grows men like tumors
full of rage,
their names erased,
but not their pain.
you let them rot
in filth and fire,
then send them home—
like matchsticks
snapped and ready to burn,
now all they want is revenge.
if any jet ever broke the sound barrier
it must have been this jet
her loudness assaulted our silence
awakening sleeping elves and gnomes
“Wherever I lay my hat”, he said
Inferring home was there.
A state of belonging bound in felt
Anchored in darkest millinery.
He had his hat; his hat was home.
The putrid hostel beds and often doorways
Always home to him,
Never mind the ice-cold fingers,
Ripping at his worn sleeping bag
Storm after storm assaulted the city.
He was warm within himself.
He had his hat; his hat was home.
A security blanket, nursing his psyche
Hiding him away from the hideous reality
Where the discarded homeless was a norm.
Society, uncaring, dismissed him with a glance,
Pouring hateful derision his way
He had his hat; his only home.
Death is in relentless pursuit.
It pervaded my thoughts,
assaulted my senses.
I scramble, rerouting courses.
A thousand voices call out my name.
Taunts, screams, cries alike.
Yearning, warning;
Calling, crying;
Run, run, run.
Run through the phantasmagoric vicinity--
The end is not far.
A hooded figure speaks my name,
its voice benignant-- a mere whisper,
Unlike prior haunting echoes.
It beckons me over with an extended arm.
My pursuer, waiting for me like an old friend.
I was only shadowed by my own fate,
pulled by my destiny.
banished into exile of freedom
with no chance of extradition
bail collateral and ransom refused
he marvelled at his painless tattoo
a rotten apple devouring a snake
inked into now sunburnt skin
reminded him that not everything
seemed as had been commanded
his island prison was very far removed
from what they called civilization
no barbed wire or wardens assaulted
mindfulness and serene integration
he cherished his forced independence
from years of familial violence and abuse
an inner orchard of peace blossomed
as he made good friends with himself
body design had healed mind soul and spirit
he was an escape artist by involuntary decree
who would they torture as their victim had vanished
a few pricks on the outside were a small price to pay
taken from home
as young as the age of five
told you don't have a name no more
and your parents aren't alive
flogged and whipped
abused and assaulted
attempts of escape
then years of trauma resulted
changed the way you spoke
being black was a ban
then they question why
you have a hatred
for the white man
“He rescues those whose spirits are crushed.” Psalm 34.14 NLT
****************************************************************
Hanging on for Dear Life
A stalwart spruce tree battered by wild gales
And assaulted by vile envious men,
Donning themselves the shameless garb of friends,
Now still stands as a sad sorrowful tale.
Battered, but not shattered, the lonely tree
Clutches on to its roots to stand around,
Hanging on for dear life to the firm ground
And making to the Lord a humble plea.
Hurricane
You crash ashore like a savage one-eyed lion attacking its prey. Hunger gnaws at your belly, the trip from Africa has been long. Wind like claws slashing and ripping, roofs torn from their moorings and flung aside like paper. Concrete and steel buildings assaulted and torn apart like Lincoln logs. Your voice roaring, torrents of rain fall like spittle from your massive jaws. Storm surges form from your massive size are kicked inland by your mighty paws. Your clear calm single eye gazes down in triumph.
you pause suddenly
it is only a short rest
more rage yet to come
With a frenzy you resume the attack. Broken gas mains shoot jets of flame. Partial buildings with broken windows like toothless old hags. Vehicles tossed about like matchbook toys after a child’s tantrum. Boats found far inland high and dry. Your appetite sated for the moment you move on in search of other prey.
after the raging storm
destruction is everywhere
we will rebuild
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.