Old ruby glasses
warmed the world to match my wish,
softened every edge.
Staining the panes guilty red,
with light beaming inside me.
I don smart glasses
to smooth away awkward things
with bright white captions—
names, prices, warnings, labels—
until all is declared shamed.
Yet nothing has changed.
The older glass and new code
serve the same old eye.
persuade the incoming light
to return what it answered.
A tree becomes mine:
memory, fear, weather, want,
all falling on it.
The lens never changed the tree;
The bark shows my fingerprints.
Once I took them off.
The world refused to explain
itself to my eyes.
It had yet to find an eye
that could see without glasses
Sitting in my lovely study room and confined to an arm chair in a lonely afternoon,
Clearing the dense leaves and through the passages the retreating rays come from the tired and sleepy Sun.
It touches discriminately my different body parts through smooth and kind submission,
My books with three dimensional printing reflect the parallel beams and cause variable scattered emissions.
The crystallographic effects are touching the eyes and create a vibrant picture in my brain with numerous hidden captions.
I am still in the rigid desk watching these beautiful resonating images without blinking,
But unfortunately I have to leave and become mobile to join a gathering for felicitation.
Written: October 28, 2025
I press my palm against your shoulder,
dust-streaked and aged
You unfold before me.
Heat rises from the folds
between the tendon and the tender dough.
I savor a bite of the dough.
reminiscent of the stars I once folded,
now scattered,
akin to lost receipts
in a tempest.
I arrive with my stained skin, as a flyer
marred by hurried typos,
hastily printed
by a restless intern.
Here, I consume you wholly.
A vendor presents grief in palm-sized parcels,
with you wrapped in sensational headlines
That twists the truth.
I swallow every piece of you,
even the mustard staining the captions.
But then the rain begins—my likeness of you blurs,
my ink a wing in flight as a winged creature.
A man in uniform smiles and brushes
the sugar from my scalp
casting it into the tide, a final farewell.
When we build
for everyone,
everyone wins:
The ramp helps
not just wheelchairs
but strollers,
delivery carts,
tired legs.
Captions help
not just deaf ears
but noisy rooms,
second languages,
different processors.
Multiple ways in
mean no one
stands outside
looking through
locked windows
at learning
they can't reach.
Every entrance
leads to the same
beautiful place:
understanding,
belonging,
growth.
Design from the start
for every brain,
every body,
every spirit
that walks
through your door.
Started crashing out
With your picture on the dash
There’s no way I’m catching up
blew my engine trying to get to you
I wasn’t fast enough
Should’ve read the captions huh
Should’ve kept a side piece to avoid the loneliness
I ain’t get no answer trying to count on you
It wasn’t adding up
Hope you stay safe
Ima stay dangerous
I do the dash when i trip
You ain’t hop out the whip
You a crazy ass chick
Im a fool trying to hit
When you pop out the mouth
I’m trying to give you a kiss
I do the dash when i trip
You ain’t hop out the whip
Miss me with that
You ain’t getting back
I can’t count on nobody
Blue faces green fifties
After the bag till it’s with me
The world could get tricky
I pour my heart with some henny
Why these people don’t like me
They always trying to fight me
They know where to find me
It’s always what I say
It boils down to what I sow
Get me off speaker
Tweaking out my destiny
Hang up the phone
Popping out your mouth
Our sex is something
like a ritual
Love me for who I am
And not for my potential
The first few years of life
is little different
than death or dreamless sleep
There is nothing we can recall
as if we didn’t exist at all
events failing to stick
like an omelet sliding perfectly
from a Teflon pan onto a plate
or sand slipping
through splayed fingers
Then for a time there are
fleeting flashes of cognizance
captured like faded photographs
pasted on the fragile pages
of an old scrapbook
sans captions to provide context
Next we simply ‘are’
with no fanfare
as if we’ve always been
no light bulb of realization
no line of demarcation
believing that we matter
in the scheme of things
which is when our sorrow begins
the world proceeding as it spins
as it did before our birth
and will continue to do after our end
to disabuse us of that naïve notion
"Work pals who Zoom together, stay together." (taken from an article "36 captions for Zoom Meetings, not attributed to anybody in particular)
I’d never heard of Zoom before a few short years ago.
But in my teaching it became a thing I had to know.
It took about a week to learn, for I’m a little slow,
but after two years I can say I still am not a pro!
I made up terms: Zoom on; Zoom off. I only can suppose
that others working from their homes have made up terms like those.
These days I teach while in the classroom, yet up on the screen
are kids I bet are still in “jammies,” just their faces seen!
Some young adults opt to stay home. It makes things hard for me.
Games can’t be played when half the class is learning virtually!
Things can get crazy when somebody isn’t using Mute,
and you might hear some background noises not exactly cute.
We teachers know not everyone is focusing on class.
One good thing is no one has to know if you have gas!
Yes, it’s a crazy world, and even Zoom dating’s a thing,
while Zumping is the latest craze to dump a Zoom-time fling.
Feb. 2, 2022 for the Buzzwords Contest of Kim Rodrigues
Sad the heart
sick the mind
from world
of commotion
retiring
its past reliving
motionless drifting
to skeletons
of mind museum
odorless images
soundless captions
spirit of senses
still pricking
its heart
joy seeking
switching from
dreaming
to present of gadgets
unhealing
blowing away walls
breathing out
relics
dropping its shoes
of backward
living
raising its heels
that present
kept hidden
running barefoot
to the forest
for healing
where weeds
grow seeds
untouched by mower
flowers
pure fragrance
perspiring
petals unfold
true colors
unseen
like love
that's pure
because hidden
brooks flow gently
accompanying songs
of birds like treasure
in green hidden
each moment
the forest
renews itself
perpetuating life
by giving
with rains
and sun milk
its body
God feeding
its spirit by seeding
continuing
dependence
with patience
togetherness
teaching
God's
unifying love
revealing.
First Place Winner as "Memory Museum" Brian Strand- All Yours- 6/5/21
the bottom lines scripted peripheries in a mirror
a headline toppled and reversed time and place
left became right and wrong pretended its centre
denuded illusions spoke in forked shiny tongues
lingua franca became subversive and spun yarns
and the spike of a spindle put wool over her eyes
prologues anticipated an apocalyptic message
hindsight firmly foreclosed unhinged shutters
framed in warped memories she recollected
blinds and veiled faces curtained in rags
holes and apertures appeared in the lore
essence void of existence smudged in tears
she relived captions and small printed subtexts
post-scripted antecedents and false premises
edited reminders and pasted virtuous contrasts
until meaning blocked out the pain of denial
a book mark covered in dust had refused to fade
and sealed approval onto questions and doubts
22nd June 2020
A lot of ‘what ifs’ have made my mind snuffle
a missed chance to say something gets my extremities cold
it is obvious how my eyes gyrate to his gestures
everyone sees the chemistry but he wants it in hard cash
I love him, love him, love him! My heart in need of embrocation
accidentally, shopping in the same place, my throat goes inflamed
an hour of periodic stare at each other produces just a ‘hi’
what an ignorant moron and an annoying colt!
Love can just happen but I understand, it’s not completely divine
life would be hell’s backdoor if I’m not the eventual winner
we meet again, this time he’s in a mesmerizing Tuxedo
a clear derby match, my lungs jump out to hide under my feet
direct isn’t my thing, so I drive through the outerbelt
chipping the little paper in his pocket, inscribed with my number
his call twelve hours later captions “this is what I’ve been waiting for”.
This vexing pencil in turgid fingers I gracelessly hold
Sorcerer's lead conjures up casuistic captions, fools' gold
My peripatetic purple pen winks at my commands
Dancing to a distant drummer on sun-scorched parchment sands
A cunning keyboard mocks me, in cast-iron briefcase locked
Contrarian bent, loaded for bear, at my Muse pointed and cocked
What with erasers missing and forever low on toner ink
It's a wonder the poetic process has not driven me to drink!
My Great Great Aunt Prissy had a magical dog.
She never needed friends but she did have a blog.
Her acquaintances were thrilled with her pix
Of a talking dog with costumes so thick
She would put hilarious captions under the blog
Stating the words came from her magical dog
A border collie with a mad sense of humor
We all laughed, thinking she had a brain tumor
My Great Great Aunt Prissy made her dog famous.
When she passed we fought over who got her dog Amos
By then he was up to six million hits every day
Advertisers were eager to throw money his way
I drew the long straw and took Amos home gladly
He was mouthy, a diva, and spoke his voice gladly.
A magical dog loving his own fans and gobs of hype
He is standing over me now watching me type
Criticizing my English, correcting my grammar.
Laughing at my mistakes in a belligerent manner.
Great Aunt Prissy’s sassy confident magical dog
No longer has a following, friends or a blog.
The moment I start wondering what just happened
Is when I reevaluate things, check out my captions
If they read like a dirge
Could be on the verge
Of a career up yonder with those famous bananas
The squawk of the geese high above
Southward bound to another love
Now misty and chilly comes the breeze
My lost seasons of time are teased
Twisting the first autumn leaves about
Entangles my thoughts into doubt
Watching the children grow and leave
Are cordial captions for all achieved
I'm the changing season progresses
Into dimensional time transgresses
The moment I start wondering what just happened
Is when I reevaluate things, checking out my captions
If they read like a dirge
Could be on the verge
Of a career up yonder with all those famous bananas
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.