There are strokes that come from various
sources
These strokes can be words that turns to
strikes
There are words that hit harder the first of a
pugilist
And there are words that calm the nerves like
a balm
We are all wordsmiths mastering our trade with
strokes
Some of the words uttered carelessly have caused
wars
While some carefully grafted words has ceased
strife
History has an array of predilection of such
issues.
We carefully and judiciously use the resources
of the word we have.
(Written on the 8th of September, 2026)
I welcome Autumn with a fond embrace,
Feeling Autumn's breath upon my face.
From high upon my Smoky Mountain stand,
I pause to behold Autumn's artistic hand.
Mist lifts slowly from the valley floor below,
As if a curtain rising on a long awaited show.
A majestic painting unfolds before my awestruck eyes,
Highlighted by the golden rays of a bright sunrise.
An endless carpet of trees, wet with morning dew,
Blazes with candy-colored leaves of nearly every hue.
My mind fails to recall a more stirring sight,
As unbidden tears upon my cheeks alight.
The sweet smell of ripened apples, littered on the ground,
Mingles with the earthy scent of mushrooms that abound.
Life is sustained by the season's bountiful fare;
Wild berries, fruits and nuts grow carelessly everywhere.
To eat hand to mouth is my childish heart's desire,
So, Autumn is the season that I most admire.
Fear strikes, though you whisper to soothe my mind.
Near me, you wish for a peace I cannot find.
Pain fades, yet a wish cannot shield the blow.
Rain falls, leaving scars that will never show.
Grief stays, when a love has no strength to hold.
Brief warmth cannot rescue a heart grown cold.
Dread waits, while you carelessly guard the key.
Dead hope leaves me scared, that you too shall flee.
I wish to become you.
The simplicity within zero,
The complexity within one.
Yet, all these things gathering together,
Became a single blade of grass.
We cannot carelessly choose zero,
Nor can we have one chosen at our own will.
Remember!
We! When we are driving,
We drive with zero,
But with one, the car behind us
Slams on the brakes belatedly as 0011.
This, precisely, is the voice of the blade of grass
Greeting the wind as a friend.
On late nights and early mornings,
I could count on fog in December.
I could count on poor visibility.
I could count on driving timidly.
I could count on trailing a big rig.
Like following 'the yellow brick road',
I could count on the big red tail lights.
It was the safest place to drive in fog.
I could count on motorists driving carelessly.
I could count on asking, "How can they see?"
Remember times when you spoke of “him” or “her”
Malice was in your words – perhaps a nasty slur.
You spoke behind their backs, in gossip you engaged
Things they did - or said - that had you so enraged.
Can you see the Assassin you became?
Your spoken words were NOT just a thoughtless game
Others to whom you speak repeat your nasty words
Once, then twice, and eventually into thirds
‘Tis not the person of whom you speak who has the fault, you see
But YOU (and others) who repeat phrases carelessly
There is a Day of Reckoning, and ‘tis you who will regret
Your words of assassination on others you beget
The nasty words you spoke with great malice and intent
Will return to you ten fold – and from God they will be sent.
‘Tis HE that you must face, upon your Judgment Day
I hope that I am there to hear what defense you think will pay
For all the vicious words you’ve said within your Life’s foray
And the Character Assassin that you’ve become today.
As I have wondered through the halls of old,
the minds of famous scribes in academia
had made me fearless, oft carelessly bold
when Mind betrayed lexical anaemia.
Soon baying at the Moon as it weeps,
a different view, depending on aspect.
The wisdom I crave inexorably seeps,
but seldom culminates into respect.
The misprision's become my badge of honour
as hyperbole swills in lexicon o’ Man.
Long years of uninformed populous dour
with magniloquent thinking that poetry can.
Yet I contemplate books in warehouse—
dyslexia transformed it into ‘wh…house’—
endless mirth that others could never douse.
I am gathering up my broken hearts,
The scattered pieces, the torn-apart.
I gave them away with an open hand,
To those who could never understand.
I thought they were treasures, precious and true,
But they were just moments that quickly withdrew,
Swept to the side at the end of the day,
Left to ruin, thrown away.
But the hands that gave them can bring them home,
No longer left in the cold alone.
I’m picking them up from where they fell,
With stories only the scars can tell—
Of a heart reclaimed, of a spirit grown,
Never again to be carelessly thrown.
They are mine to keep, they are mine to mend,
Where the ruin stops, and the healing begins.
troubled
in a sleepless composition
have I labored endlessly
carelessly inciting
my efforts to absolve
this veiled distress
that never rests its torment
within me-
sincerely
I can attest
by each burning sacrament
that's proven itself agreeable
within each sealed epistle
a quiet oath of declaration
am I before her judgement
that tempting gaze
that can govern all-
but my own
sanity
Mandeville
Your silence is deafening,
As are the expressions you have yet to utter.
Ideas you mutter
Have fallen onto attentive ears,
One who hears
Conceptualizations you have yet to speak of
And notions you have only since dreamed of.
A supposition of love,
Perhaps not the state of being in love,
Leading to holding her above
The pedestal. For in this moment,
Her feet are too sterling
To be sullied by the dust
Left so carelessly on the plinth
That has yet been handled
Since the assumed maiden
Devastated your heart and abandoned it.
She left it vacant,
Allowing the new artisan to place gracefully
In her hand, the brush of crimson paint,
Renewing the color
That the crone thieved of you.
A warning is passed onto,
Sent so loudly
That your ears can't seem to
Indulge on the phrases.
Spells of dejection to offer many a protection,
Shouting to hold your deafening silences
And allow her to run mad.
For she can hear all that is unspoken,
Her understanding, unbroken,
But speaking it aloud
Leaves all emotions open.
Marlboro breath exhaling frustrations
Struggling with the need of her
Drinking to the moment he lost her
Only to remember how things were
Her ghost haunts his thoughts
Flooding the actions he makes
The feeling of her smooth skin
Craving to be explored on dates
The way she rolled her eyes so loud
Made him fold over in giggles
Saying "I love you" under a breath
She missed all of the signals
Loving carelessly and unconditionally
They always fall into eachother
Friends to most that see them
Tis their eyes meet, lover
She came in striding,
Head held high,
Careful not to let the crown fall
Defining the queen she is.
Her beauty blinds those who follow,
Even the birds fall silent,
As though afraid to chirp
Her glory away.
Melanin , her truest companion,
The finest friend she has ever known.
So pure, so refined,
Her skin smooth and soft.
A queen she is, not only of the East,
But a leader of the beast within.
Cross her path carelessly,
And her claws you shall meet.
Her foes shrink whenever she appears,
For she captures souls with a single breath,
And leaves doubters cursing their luck.
Swim in her milk and honey,
And summer will be yours to claim
For she is the Queen of the East,
A wonder she remains.
Allow me to introduce
The charming letter
Lower case c
For she’s as cute as cute can be;
Corinthian, compact and curvy,
Companioned between b and d
She keeps her shape confidently
When transformed to case, upper
A large C with calligrapher’s
Flourish, grows up
Chic and sexy.
Sometimes she calls a
Crystal clear c
Rules over the oceans of vowels
Making i follow e
But sometimes, she’s wispy
And cirrus, sounding soft
Like an S
Wise counsel at the end of advice.
When she teams up with K
She loses her say,
Maybe she craves to cut loose –
Sccchhhhhhhhhh – she’s carelessly
Left hidden in scissors
Scene of a crime
Accused, she sits silent
In her indictment.
Socially mobile with h,
She follows her cue and
Takes up her place in the
Chorus of the church choir pew
She is centred
As middle c
And of music, she’s
The finale.
192.
Oh God, I Beg!
Oh God to You I strongly implore
To strengthen the throne of our governor
And in his domain to accept me once more
For when I have left from his secure
On my quest for a greener pasture
I had carelessly bitten their enemy's lure
Oh God to You I sincerely pray
To raise up ABS-CBN like GMA
And their big pipz to me shall never play
For I accused them of being unfair
By having with a party a something affair
I hope to that matter they'll put no more care
Oh God to You I truthfully entreat
To set Liberal Party where no one can beat
And that from me they'll never retreat
For when I tried to abandon them
And acted as a rebel with mayhem
I've proven I can‘t live without their tandem
Oh God to You I firmly beseech
To make PNoy's regime remarkably rich
And the Straight Path no one shall breach
For when I campaigned against him not to be our king
It was all propaganda, personal there's nothing
I was just in my career a newly hatched birdling.
-11/02/2012
(Dumarao)
*My Twilight Poems Collection
Visiting the Holocaust Museum
Seeing all the memories of the survivors
The bodies carelessly thrown in the pits
The experiments
The gas chambers
How could we let this happen?!
Oh right.
Everyone needs someone to blame.
"This museum is not an answer, it is a question"
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.