That only I can see
I faced this lonely road alone
I walked this blind street
With a faultless mischief
My fears withheld within
A stranger to myself
So I embraced my shadow
And prayed for quietness
in my head!
winy am-
monia mini
yams say i
am my
own way
high rep-
tilian brat-
boy schwing-
er rain-
ing ground-
ers through the
shortstop's not so
sticky wickets
Drawing the piper's ankhs over the fire whistled these words, that Anubis was fabricated a war of the worlds, but never have see the day then, like open amphoras that last by the daybreak, open Egypt to the masses, the crypts speak of Anubis even if we can't accept that.
Tater's and beer
In another privileged day of excitement
Look at me, friend, a belch has the sense to appear
Like a spit in a tube, with a reason to rube, I know a foolish hickey to relent
Like a child of the stars, the poise of uncertainty
Has become ours, to let a swallow of many and might
Become the secret of misery no one is saying, publicly...?
What the hell rhymes with muscles and care, if I do it myself up right?
A mouse wanders by, daring us to catch itself in a trap
Wow, it says, the misery I notice and due, is a little vague...
Suppose the danger of me and reality is for any and all, a hosting crap
That seems to be taters and beers, having a good time at my imagination's rage?
I found the first letter under my pillow,
in ink I recognized before I recognized the words
my own hand, but steadier.
Braver, somehow, in the loops of the y.
Dear diary, it began, in my handwriting,
though I keep no diary that anyone else could find.
It knew things I'd only thought at 2a.m.
It knew the name I never say out loud.
I caught it once, in the lamp-light,
bent over my desk in the shape of me,
holding a pen the way I hold a pen,
writing something I would never have the nerve to send.
I didn't stop it.
I think some part of me left the desk lamp on
on purpose, that night
some part of me that wanted to be spoken for.
It signs my name better than I do now.
No hesitation in the final stroke.
No crossing out. No starting over.
Just my name, sent, sealed, and meant.
Last week I found the final letter,
already folded, already addressed
to the one person I never worked up the courage to tell.
At the bottom, in handwriting identical to mine, it said:
I am you, but the part of you that stopped waiting.
I hope you don't mind. I already dropped it in the mailbox.
By the time you read this,
it will already be theirs.
I regret of travelling years
Shouldn’t have been to many places
Memories do disappear
Faces mix with other faces
Shouldn’t have been humiliated
When they asked how long I’d stay
Should have turned my back and waited
For a flight home the same day
You don’t dare to question me
Should have said, but chickened out
Offered my excuses politely
Was allowed to join the crowd
Once I stood beside the study
Of the Constable’s Leaping Horse
Thought I’d rather be that muddy
Piece of clay on painted earth
Than to bear this old torment
Of the human pedigree
But if you could say that moment
Wasn’t my best, I would agree.
Having been here a while, i've wrote poems
To cause a smile, others may bring
A shiver..However i rarely ever
Dither.)
SHARING WHAT’S BEEN SHARED
In these warring times,
We can’t be indifferent;
God’s waiting on us:-
Let’s become empathetic:
Seeking guidance from our God:-
Blessed with God’s wisdom,
Courage and serenity,
Let us get to work:-
In labors of love, it’s time
For sowing and reaping peace:-
Let’s no longer be afraid;
Bombing wars can’t match God’s love.
Remember, practicing love is one thing;
But living love becomes another thing.
Practicing war must be brought to an end;
Living in love’s peace must become eternal:-
Remember and be encouraged by the blessed scriptures:
“And let the peace that comes from Christ rule…your hearts.
For as members of one body you are called to live in peace…”
Likewise, in thanksgiving prayer, also be forever inspired
In knowing “God blesses those who…[labor]...for peace,
For they will be called the…[blessed]...children of God.”
If I find out who has been eating cake in my bathroom,
They will be paying for a new broom,
And a cake a tin free of rust,
That will be a must.
I just hope they never learn,
What went on in the bedroom,
That would cause heads to turn,
While they were eating cake in the bathroom.
young man with an employee badge sits in chair next to me
we are not two feet away from each other
I try to make eye contact, but he never looks up from his phone
There would have been a time when we would have made eye contact
Said “hi”
maybe smiled
those days are gone
Hospitality has been thrown into a ditch and buried
There would have been a time when we would have said “hi”
Gotten to know a bit about each other.
Discussed possible common neighbors, friends and relatives.
This is small town Iowa.
It used to be what small town Iowans did.
It was expected.
Not anymore.
I've been writing like you lately
I never really tried to rhyme in my poems
I saw it as an easily avoidable obstacle
But now it seems if I'm not writing a free verse or haiku
It's a rhythmic poem about you
I was never really one to write poems about love
But now it's almost like you're all I think of
From the moment I wake up to the moment I sleep
You are the memory I keep
skunk hit by truck, four men jump, run
I have never had a sense of belonging, I have always been strange to a common Joe in the streets, I have remained resolute in my weirdness, a courageous individual of note, I have always chased clouds, my pen has been a friend to me, a loyal friend indeed, powerful beyond measure, I use it to strike the nerve in this resource driven society, the most outspoken genius Outcast in the history of outcasts.
Sunsets remind me of you..
Summer memories are all I have left.
They're magical yet somewhat bittersweet.
Wordku: 5-7-5 words
AP: Honorable Mention 2026, Honorable Mention 2026
Why are so many Scientists—
Falling—without a Sound—
As if the Mind—once kindled—
Were Treason—when unbound—
They walked among Equations—
Like Gardeners of the Truth—
Yet Something in the Silence—
Has marked their Passage—through—
No Thunder—announces Ruin—
No Banner—bears the Blame—
But Ash collects on Notebooks—
And Dust forgets each Name—
Perhaps—’tis not their Bodies—
But what they dared to See—
A Lantern—held to Darkness—
Invites—Hostility—
Or Knowledge—like a Fever—
Unsettles those at Ease—
And so the Cure—is Quiet—
Administered—by Degrees—
Yet still—amid the Vanishing—
A stubborn Spark remains—
For Thought—cannot be buried—
It blossoms—in their Brain’s —
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.