I memorized your metaphors
so I could tally up the scores.
Racing right out of open doors
septic vapors, septic vapors.
Read bellicose body language,
you need to review the first page.
There is nothing that will assuage
blistering rage, blistering rage.
Become that malleable tree
choosing to stand tall easily.
Remember it’s a chance to see
how it can be, how it can be.
Important to know how to move,
emotions with nothing to prove.
Think only of what will behoove
a micro groove, a micro groove.
“There is neither invitation nor casting off; how can there be flowers, leaves, meditations, and recitation of sacred texts, and how can there be worship of Siva, which is identity and difference?”
Contemplate: where can omnipresence move?
Thus, for God there is neither space nor time,
self-aware consciousness as does behoove
vibrant Self radiating bliss beat’s chime.
Waves are not separate from the ocean,
so likewise all that is, is God alone,
be it the void or worlds in motion,
the rainbow’s hues and each musical tone.
Life forms everywhere are breathed by God’s will,
merely seeming differentiated,
this wisdom recognised when we are still,
whence we shine as pure Self, liberated.
Transcending all forms, concepts and labels
we shine as Self spoken of in fables.
At this time in our country’s history
when so many people are so headstrong…
where so many think they are right…
while everyone else is wrong…
It would behoove us all to understand
wisdom, like respect…is something that we earn…
That no one has all the answers
and…
we all have a lot to learn.
Copy and paste can be detrimental if used in the wrong place
Such as posting and plagiarizing poems from another’s space
The time and energy it may take to search for poems to steal
It is a waste of time if you’re not going to be authentic and real
It’s also a crime to take credit for stolen art, poems or any other copied matter
And only a matter of time before a lawsuit may be served from a silver platter
It must be a type of severe mental illness or some type of character flaw
To want to claim poems as yours, that are not, is against the law
It would behoove you to think before you continue to copy and paste and post
We are on to your shenanigans and the deceitful liars are despised the most
Please remove your pathetic copied and pasted posts and leave our page
Because your reputation, integrity and legal recourse may be a lot to wage
open a blind eye ~ and see you're being duped by those using AI
sniff out those taking credit for cheating ~ real poets they're defeating
a concept I can't accept ~ from people whose poetry is inept
sometimes it's really difficult to prove ~ but an issue to behoove
call them out if it matters ~ don't serve them trophies on silver platters
if you couldn't care less ~ it's no wonder poetry soup is a mess
disheartening to say the least ~ is it possible to slay the beast
it's happening, there's no doubt ~ they're being given far too much clout
this message may be falling on deaf ears ~ if so, then I give up... cheers!
Balmore Eruv Verve!
Once there was a Rabbi Yonah,
Whose Shabbos Eruv made you wonder,
Does Yonah’s art belong in the Louvre?
Does our gratitude behoove yah?
This Detroit Tiger slams a Homah!
For Yonah is Balmore’s donor,
Mesiras Nefesh, never a groaner,
Keeping Jews in the groove,
It only goes to prove,
Huh? Giving generously makes one an owner!
Do you think it a trifle odd,
when dirt clumps in a clod?
and more exquisite and grand,
when separated into sand?
If that's the way soil moves you,
It would certainly behoove you,
when preparing Cream of Wheat
to stir often over medium heat.
1. Shuv (to turn back)
It would behoove us
to shuv to Jesus
2. Ruach (breath)
Holy Spirit, make Your swoop
keep us in Your holy loop!
3. Shalom (peace)
True and lasting Peace
is the Holy Spirit on lease
[Stay tuned for more!...
Based on meditations by Dave Adamson
my poem title is named after his book
which was published by Christian Art Gifts in 2001
each page has a place for "Notes" -- my poem reflections!]
Welcome to the United States
Home of the new Russian empire
Half of you have the impression
That our Democracy should expire
You choose to bow down to some clown
Who touts Vladimir Putin
And you won't be satisfied
Until everyone starts shootin'
If you just want to be a slave
Your future it would behoove
Give our country a final wave
And pack up your guns and move
I was there when love became you.
It spread across your eyes and smile,
left a breathless caressing hue
and whisper of softest beguile.
Aching for your gentle embrace,
yearning for the pulsing heartbeat
that your touch fetches with its trace
skimming my skin in burning heat.
I succumb to your calm shadow
arching with fresh unbound pleasure.
Growing fury of ebb and flow,
recurring sensual treasure.
You raise my heated eagerness
with sweet, sultry, seductive eyes.
My breath, catching in meagerness,
ceding in dramatic surprise.
I arise with feverish flush
designing a rhythmic motion
to entice, encourage first gush
in raw unrestrained emotion.
Ah, my love, will you stay with me
forever and further behoove?
We shall grow in greater degree,
you and I, without vain reprove.
My love, my skillful seducer.
In life, I dedicate my all.
You have become my producer.
In death, I'll hear your lustful call.
Your salacious murmurs teasing
torrid desire in me anew.
Your voice passionately pleasing.
I was there when love became you.
Peach and mango, nature's sweet embrace,
In taste, they share a harmonious space,
Juicy, succulent, with flavors that chase,
A fruity symphony, a delightful grace.
In the orchard's shade, beneath the sun's warm kiss,
I savor ripe mangos, pure tropical bliss.
With skin so tender, hues of yellow and gold,
A story of summer, a tale to be told.
Alfonzo, the king of the lot,
With golden flesh, a taste so hot,
Juicy nectar, a fragrant pot,
In mango's realm, it hits the spot.
Kent, with its skin so green and smooth,
A tropical delight, a real behoove,
Sweet and luscious, it'll make you groove,
In mango feasts, it finds its groove.
The seed at the center, I won't cast away,
It's a part of this mango's story today.
With lips to the core, I suck on that stone,
Extracting every bit, not a morsel alone.
The seed, it holds memories too,
Of the mango's seedling journey, the rain and the dew.
I savor it all, from the flesh to the pit,
Each bite, each drop, in this moment, I commit.
With springtime now upon us,
If your town has lots of Jews,
The supermarket has some foods
You might have need to use.
For Passover’s approaching
And the holiday demands
No bread nor pasta be consumed;
Thus, stores have made their plans.
A special section’s filled with
All the substitutes we need
To serve at Seder time, just like
The ancient texts decreed.
There’s matzoh meal, gefilte fish
And macaroons and cakes
And all of the ingredients
For anyone who bakes.
This Passover array depends
On neighborhood and store,
So often pickings might be slim
While other shops have more.
For Jewish folk with markets
With no matzoh, I’d behoove
You to tell the owners how you feel
Or do what I’d do - move!
I’ve hated myself and gated my true self/
Tired I waited for health basics to shelve/
Take care of yourself during young ages to delve
Shake bare sore urges yearning numb phases to evolve/
Intake of a rare lore emerges /
In wake of we’re to lure resurgence /
I think not as they’ll plea what they have to plead to move along/
Most certainly a uniquely freed seed of his own breed to sooth strong/
Host a sneak peek of belief for the creed through deeds to behoove long/
Sordid and oblique with the technique nothing meek to seat a sleek antique/
Sure didn’t complete the metaphor for the mega Thor to wreak on the sheet/
A meteor upheave is seen as way more meatear to read the meter/
Catching a gear clutching the brake lever I steer near to see you sear/
Hatching as the overseer or instructor if you peer I have the hymn structure to adhere/
A poem a day helps pave the way
For feeling I’ve succeeded
In keeping apathy at bay,
A nourishment I’ve needed.
Since most of us have such a crutch,
(It needn’t feature writing)
We might agree that just a touch
Of habit keeps us fighting.
We don’t need others to approve,
For they can never measure
The joy our choices do behoove
To bring us daily pleasure.
If one chooses to enter the political realm
[To serve his or her country in high office]
Inevitably, they will be accused of misconduct
Of one sort or another during their tenure
Julia Gillard, ex-Prime Minister of Australia,
The first and only female in Australia’s history
Is no exception.
From 2010-2013, she performed her duties, but
Was deposed by her predecessor, who claimed
Rightly that she was ambivalent, that she
Sordidly vacillated in her actions and decisions
And such claims by one’s political allies and opponents
Are rather common when a position of authority
Is coveted.
No evidence exists, however, that she was a traitor!
Treason (to be a traitor) requires attacking the state
Authority “to whom one owes” [complete] “allegiance
With the intent of overthrowing the government.”
Almost ten years have passed since she left office,
And it would behoove the Australian powers that be
To move on.
written March 28, 2022
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.