Best Superfluous Poems

A world of illusions procreates
blinking sustained delusions
existence shivering in probabilities
memories afloat in traces astray
If only I were a meteor 
I'd cross those barriers
to merge their...

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'Twas the twilight of the year, a twinkling tiara,
December 31st, digits dancing dunes in the Sahara.
One, two, three, one, two, three, it's a prance,
A numerical...

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Life as a child was full of hues,
Of sparkling reds and brightened blues,
‘Coz the distinction of color had not been made,
The foundation of racism had...

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Oh, my dear honorable poet!
Words recess when I write about you
 For, they start loving you

You were a sincere lover,
   when you wrote...

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What is it to be a Tree?
Do trees ever mind being so close ...so intertwined ?
Do they ever long for space as I do? 
Do...

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My favorite Poetry Soup poet, the most honorable L Milton Hankins
His avatar is predominately on the home page, he’s the big tamale
Obey grammar rules and...

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1. The Welkin
Wind blows / clouds race / vast blue sky
Breeze tugs / trees sway / great green hills
Sun scourged / sand glares / small...

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Looking out of a window
onto the world, you wonder
if there is an awareness 
that soaks each living cell, 
something that sews together 
all life into...

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Apparently Soup finds the Latin word for ‘Human’ offensive;
about as ‘P.C. gone wrong’ as it’s possible to get. I have had to
include completely superfluous hyphens...

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Barefoot on the paving slab chill, concrete
feet feel frostbite emanations in their callused souls;
rooftop mystique clamours silent slate triangles,
perched the stray cat observers, red-eyes smoking...

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I had many dreams
                When life was so full, almost...

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I flip the history of Bojangles
On a cool Sunday evening
Los Angeles coming down
A flow of oboes breathing
Through the lung of the street
The hobo not stopping...

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A ventured stroll away from talk
taking in all superfluous detail
allowing it to fill my corrupted senses
an escape from the tedium
it invites me to escape from...

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On the cold wooden chair I sit,
Writing rhymes of youth.
The voice in the distance,
Pronounces me uncouth.

The ticks of the clock,
Taunt me shamelessly.
When will the bell...

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Nascent pristine hopes sprout stealthily
  from the submerged swamps of anxieties,
     parched earth frets over consequences
    ...

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