Best Backgrounds Poems
Fae circles of mushrooms
Lanky yellow toadstools
Firm jelly tot larvae
Feed from rich stagnant pools.
Fungal disks cling with wanton
To the grey trunks of trees
Cricket strums join to bird song
Sending messages of peace.
Lambent beams break through foliage
Gradient tones tint the scene
Yellow, purple, and whites
showcased by backgrounds of green.
Fractured rock nests bright flora
Compost mats engage moss
A place of breach and survival.
Nature's gain, (one might say)
is the product of loss.
Happy Souper Tuesday
To my buddies on the Soup!
Despite our different backgrounds
We’re united as a group.
We put our thoughts in writing
Hoping other souls will read,
Acknowledgement the one reward
We really want or need.
If we could meet in person,
Very few of us would bond
And not because we’re states away
Or even ‘cross the pond.
Yet that’s the beauty of a site
Where we can feel at home,
Brought together by the notions that
We craft into a poem.
So here’s to Souper Tuesday
Where there is no need to vote,
Just read and maybe comment
On the words somebody wrote.
Whats in a name
As i look on the soup
From various backgrounds
And various nooks
English, Hispanic
French too
How did we get the names
Of me and you
What do they mean
What do they say
After all
Their with us everyday
Mac the son of
MacDonald the name
As all the clans
Use the same frame
Mr Smith of Anvil fame
Mr Miller of flour, grain
Histories past
Honed our names
All of our names are nice in their way
All have History, all have their say
One name on here i like for sure
Its the amazing name
" Kristy De La Keur "
One individual called "she" stepped into the sheets of a life story
Sheets that used to be occupied
She walked back and stopped at a chapter which tell the story of an obsolete chamber
A space which stands for behalf of the memory and wounds
A diorama played by shadow
A story with no beginning nor end
They've been there with decent backgrounds and decent light spectrum but called gray
The view was frozen, the chatter was muted, and that feels fell into the melancholy
Those with the outstretched hands which too high to be reached
Those with the self existence but too blind to be seen
They abandoned as a figure of reserves without knowing the essence of a solace
And that individual creature went on her way back to the labyrinth of time
This time someone seized by the story of a root baste
Those roots were heart in shape and the hue carved a warmth, but once howled a bitterness
This chapter tells the story of a lush tree with the fruit of love
Fruits that contain the complexity of love, passion and a place to berth
And the fruit of love revealed its story to someone
Those who hide behind their false mannerism had carved their name on her shoulder
Those who have offered their hearts and bent on their knees
Those who play fire in a lust, fell into a seek
But the love that she wants still unable to cover the part of this story
From the fruit of love to the sheet's of light
This chapter tells the story of an old house with extensive bed of flowers
This house represented the aesthetics, peace and harmony
A house which brings relief, spaciousness and joy
In that house she knelt, release all her mess
To the house the journey was anchored
In every sketches that have been through
None could live without the presence of others too
Obsolete chamber, lush love tree, beautiful bed flowered old house
Those who were involved in each story of the bulkhead of life
Those who were crawling along and came from different angles of infinity
Those who were instantly filled the pieces of shoot and became the shoot
They are the perfect gift for the imperfect souls
Not as a complement nor as a reserves
Yet as the major part of the heartwarming life story
In splendor of meadows gentle winds blow
As traversing high-low mighty rivers flow
And sun never sets as blue skies ever glow--
Seasons bloom there, ample crops grow
And peaceful are domains where birds roam
Devoid of trepidation from famine or foe.
Frolic in playgrounds where children laugh,
Grown-ups always walk tranquil serene paths,
Intellect prevails as wisdom outlaws wars
And across oceans extend gallant helping hands
As enduring love fuels brotherhood at large.
Divine is fortitude of eight billion strong
From all faiths, colors, cultural backgrounds
Striving in unison for solemn human cause:
To rid of what divides--seek common ground.
We trade, we innovate, we build, we believe
We share, we live, let every nation be
We learn, we educate, respect one another
We argue, we listen, and confer with honor--
Such is global paradigm of model new world.
August 12, 2019
Placed 1st: Choose your own title, vol. 7-songs
Sponsor: Edward Ibeh; Song: I believe-Era
SECRETS IN MY PAST
LONG OVER ME, OUTLAST
TRUE I GIVE WITHOUT TAKING
TAKING FROM ANYONE SHAKING
FROM THE EARTHQUAKE
LIFE'S LIES I FORSAKE
TO IGNORE BLISS
BECOMING MERE MIST
MAGIC TRICKS UPON MY DEATH
REASSURING YOUR FAITH
THE CANOE ROWS AWAY
TO THE FLIPPED UNDERWAY
HOLDING AN ENCHANTER GOLDEN TICKET
COMES WITH ITS UNCONTROLLABLE CURSE
AMENABLE YES, BUT NEVER NURSED
COMPLETELY OPTIMISTIC
CHANGING STATISTIC
EXCELLENCE OF ROWING RIVER STREAMS
GIVES ME DELUSIONAL DREAMS
WHERE AM I STANDING
WHO IS THAT CALLING
BACKGROUNDS UNCHANGED
NAIVELY I PURSUE WITH RAGE
FINDING TRUE DARKNESS
FIGHT RELENTLESS
AGAINST MYSELF,THIS UNIVERSE
FOR WE ARE PUPPETS OR A VERSE
TO WHOM & WHATS THE PURPOSE
FANTASIES OF RIVERS FLOWING UPSTREAM
TO THE BEGINNING OF ITS ORIGIN
THAWS MY BRAIN'S RELIGION
EXPECTING TO SEE THE UNSPEAKABLE
Diminished Expectations
Everyone lives with a degree of frustrations
Although having backgrounds from different nations
Lives are destroyed by giving into temptations
As mates try rebuilding on broken foundations
Leaders lust for applause and standing ovations
While the common mans dreams are lost in translations
Children busy with visual fascinations
While parents practice their rehearsed simulations
Human predators love their killing sensations
As their victims lose their treasured habitations
And so we live with diminished expectations
Rejecting even logical explanations.
Sample for my 12 by 12 Monorhyme Contest
John Derek Hamilton
January 11,2017
I've roamed the halls of Poetry Soup for nearly nine years
and had lots of ups and downs, cried happy and sad tears
Some poets are super duper people that I call my 'friends'
There are some snoopers who have need to make amends
Soupers are a varied lot from different backgrounds in life
But never should there be reason for enmity, vitriol or strife
I've laughed at humorous scribblings of many bawdy limericks
Shook my head at rude comments that have caused conflicts
Those few are in the ranks of poets I call 'the party poopers'
And there are some who enjoy interfering ~ 'the bloopers'
They spread rumors that cause chaos in the soup kitchen
The site would be much better if they would stop b****in'
I cannot claim my innocence for I've battled a time or thrice
When bullies and trolls have said things that weren't very nice
I've been called a 'mean girl' but it's a name I take in stride
Bet money on it being said again and I'll say, "Let it Ride!"
I've written for other poetry sites, but I remain in the Soup
and if you question why I've returned, well, here's the scoop...
There are fantastic men and women here that I have met
who are sincerely kindhearted. I owe them gratitude as a debt
I prefer to ignore those who cast aspersions with a snicker
But like most kinfolk, there will be times when we bicker
As a community of artists, we are writers of poetic verse
with a common interest shared across the entire universe
We should strive to be united with the same goal in mind
'Respect each other as Poetry Soupers and remain aligned'
Positive comments are encouraging. Ladle them and you'll see
That supporting Super Soupers will keep the site hassle free
My heritage is a mixture
Of backgrounds. Let's start on
My Dad's side of the family.
My Dad's mom is Irish and English.
My Dad's dad is Irish and German.
My Mom's mom is Scottish and Irish.
My Mom's dad is blood Hungarian.
So in other words,
I'm a mutt! or as others say,
"Heinz 57!"
We have come a long way we have been fighting for centuries and decades to get
where we are.
Jim Crow and the Segregated south couldn't keep us down.
We fought to be equal by marching the streets of the south all the way to D.C.
Slavery may have tried to keep us down and make us give up.
But we held our heads up high and looked to the sky and Prayed to God to help us.
And he did he saw us through he made us stronger it was another's day journey
and we were glad about it.
My heritage enlightens me it inspires me to be a better person and to be my best.
My culture motivates to want more to educate the younger generation.
From the plantation to the white house we have come a long way.
To see the future through and have a brighter day.
The south thought they had us bound but they were wrong.
The Lord knew what he had in store for us all along.
He showed us the light............
And kept us through the night.
People like the Reverend Al Sharpton and Jesse Jackson are keeping the legacy
alive .
By making sure that we know our rights and get the respect we deserve.
I am enlightened by what Martin Luther, Malcolm X and Frederick Douglass did.
They were motivated even though they came from different backgrounds.
My ancestors pulled through so I could see something unique and divine.
Segregation turned into intergration Jim Crow evolved into the background paving
the way for Barack Obama to become president.
If only Jim Crow knew he paved the way for civil rights.
For marches upon Washington D.C. and for Lunch Counter Sit-ins.
All those hymns and Justice he paved the way for Rosa Parks to say enough is
enough.
To not give up her seat and to be treated as equal citizens.
My heritage and my culture breathes within me and I must keep the legacy going
strong.
All my days long.
I had some very good primary school teachers who were awesome
But in all my schooling, one of my college instructors stood out to be super awesome
In our first day of class we all sat on a beautiful mat that she had acquired from one of her travels to a middle eastern country
Then we drank tea in tiny little cups
This is a welcoming gesture that she had learnt from her travels
This special gesture always reminds me of the book Three Cups of Tea
We were about twelve students, about five minorities
It was called World Studies
That little gesture brought all of us closer
On our last day of class we had an international potluck where we each brought food from our different cultures and ethnic backgrounds
Am sure God was smilling on that day as he watched us try each other's foods and learn about each other through it
I remember a story she told us of how she wore a niqab to her church and stood by the door as a greeter
She talked of how most people avoided her direction, some not even looking at her
She was this petite white woman
She had travelled to twenty something countries worldwide doing missionary work
She had walked on soils where women were regarded inferior and unworthy
She had put her hands during her missions, in places where white people were loathed
But even with some of the dire situations she found herself into, she still had that caring and loving heart
I remember the projects we did for refugees
Another of her many passions
She provided healthcare, education and assisted with basic needs acquisitions for them
I learnt that we can all sit down, have a cup of tea, put down our differences and accept each,
to make this world a peaceful place
ODE TO HILDA
( Hilda - Women Hostel at the University of Peradeniya, Sri Lanka)
-Mathi - Warden-
By the river of Mahaweli,
Along the Galaha Road,
Stood the Women's hostel,
With the name Hilda Obeysekera.
Eight winged Massive Hilda,
Steered by Aggressive Mathi,
Harboured the damsels of the nation,
Striving to achieve their goals.
From various walks of life they came,
Lodging together under the same roof,
Forgetting their backgrounds & differences,
Accepting Mathi as their mother of Mothers.
High table dinners, parties, and girlish follies,
Are few experiences Hilda offered,
Social life was just an alien myth,
But Hilda made these teens to learn and live.
Sent from my iPad
Life is like a book, with new sheets for each day
There is a creator of the universe, the core of the message
Is life just a coincidence, what is my mission?
When I try to find and follow my meaning in life,
I listen to my heart
My subconscious is planning my life
But, I always steer the course towards new horizons
and I will always be a director of my own life
We are all unique individuals, with different backgrounds
to live the life we are meant to live
I can not save the world, but I'm a fellow human being
Uses the power and knowledge I have
Personal development an inspiration to enrich life
We must learn to love each other, looking at each other without hate
For centuries, man has searched for the meaning of life
What is your intention?
04.06 - 2018
Sun :) A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
Your Purpose in Life : Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Heidi Sands
10th place in the contest
People : Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Richard Lamoureux
5th place in the contest
Colour me,yellow,white,black, or red,dont
discriminate me,
For my blood is same like yours!
Just do enough to stamp out,
racism,intolerance and xenophobia.
Respect all nationalities,religious backgrounds,
sexual orientation and ethnic origins.
None of us chose their skin colour,
we found skin colours on us.
They were given to us by the Almighty,
why judging me because of my skin colour;
No one is good or bad on the basis of skin colour.
chipepo lwele
EVIL Exists; Utopia Does Not
You may remember them--
a wildly-diverse band of individuals--
a strange ensemble comprised of
various races, age brackets,
backgrounds, and philosophies.
By the mid-seventies the philosophies
had been replaced with one mindset, that
of a leader with irresistible power
who compared himself to Jesus Christ.
He banished societal norms some followers
had brought with them, replacing them
with his own. Many in this insulated
community didn't seem to realize they
were not in the utopia they'd been promised.
Now, close your eyes and try to see them--
hundreds of them--parents, their many
children, friends, and lovers--lying close together,
some with their arms around each other,
looking so peaceful after partaking of
Jim Jones's cyanide-laced fruit juice.
Guyana, South America, 1978, the Jonestown compound
909 dead--about one-third of them children
Jim Jones, one of the most notorious cult leaders of all times
written June 27, 2016, for Brian Davey's Evil Is Everywhere Contest