The day they proclaimed addiction to be a disease
is the day drug abuse spread like a weed.
The powers that be profit from prolonged disease
not so much from personal responsibility.
They legalized dope to keep people pacified and numb
,, then lay tax on the working man-play us for chumps.
They've turned this country from a cool place to be
into a red-hot mess, needle and syringe lining the streets.
First Lady Reagan was right when she said, " Just say no.
Now they have grass and gas stations in blue-tongued Colorado.
Some want to categorize obesity as a disease.
The cure for this one is simply quite easy
: shut your pie hole and start moving your feet.
There's way too much profit in treating "disease"
That's why cures occur so very rarely.
Once a person is cured, the money pig thins
it dies in the stye with the profit-margin men.
To say you would unblock someone if they can be civil
is a crock of BS that I'd categorize as narcissistic drivel.
It's just another veiled shovel full, meant as a dig
but it's quite clear that some people don't give a fig!
Oh, the impudence of one who has an arrogant nature.
The petulance of one without disciplined nomenclature.
Spiritual dragons – the ones that kill
reside and wait impatiently for seeking fingers.
Hobbits eat breakfast mushrooms
in a leather-bound shire.
Small books on overly large religions.
Poets and their random works
all in a row.
The shelves are long but not lengthy
I lack the space for unnecessary reading.
I write now,
I write inside invisible books
they open and shut every day like mouths.
Few read the words that tumble out,
but the news from my bookshelf
is encouraging.
I need to categorize and order,
not alphabetically ranked by authors
or subjects
but by how much I have yet to comprehend
and need to read again.
© Now
It arises
From a tangled emotional mind
through crazy tongues inane
from intellectual brain sane
or may be straight from heart
It dons
Rich vocabularies to enrich content;
Rare adjectives, the special add-ons
And at times archaic words to adorn
or sometimes just a simple verse
It comes in
Perfect meter to look perfect
Proper rhymes that read better
New forms which form trend setter
or sometimes goes just with the flow
It boasts of
Podium win and the adorned crown
Top placement, shared with people around
Honourable placement, stated down
Or umpteen n numbered N/As
Be it a serious content or hilarious limerick
Either a Short tanka or the longest writing
Every words we pen come from within
Ain't that bad to categorize: best and worst
Are not every poetry and poets' word(s)worth???
***an atheist was asked if incest is a...
sin or not a sin
incest
considered
by most or if not all faiths
is a sin
everything
is explainable
as atheism deduces
their contention will
indicate that it
causes a mental breakdown
deformities and
diseases
so subsequently
as religions categorize incest as a sin by their inclusionary mindset
atheist reiterate
when all is said and done they
will read between the lines and make a case that incest is emphatically
not in the least a contributing element of
a sin
2021 January 27
I read the weeks obituaries closely
saw lines of passing on every page
I wondered who they were and
who were those they left behind.
The names meant nothing to me.
I did not know them.
What did it matter to me they liked golf,
had a love for woodcraft, planted gardens?
What was the meaning of lists of those that passed?
I will never know them
or take the time to categorize
those things they liked to do.
Dark mornings before the birds awaken
I rise like those from other graves
and with the other ghosts stir alone
within our movement
toward the coffee and the light;
pen and pad held ready
to meet the challenge of my words;
to play with fire and golden strands
of filaments of thought.
Today I’ll choose the right combination
of characters in search of that single truth,
lost forever inside a forest of final light
and one day for one moment
someone will cast a casual glance
my way and say, “what did it matter
that he liked poetry?”
I never knew him.
Western culture marches under the banner of freedom
like a tsunami, pushing debris into quiet neighborhoods
where children play,
changing forever what it touches.
Its modern religion replaces catechism with mirror,
where self is honored,
and rules reshaped
to fit new behavior.
Good deeds succumb to more stuff,
as the god of materialism
is worshiped at the temple of Amazon.com,
making preachers obsolete.
The table is now set
for comparison’s dinner,
where greedy eyes
categorize and rank each other’s wealth.
Seeds of jealousy begin with observation,
are watered by a word or two,
and fertilized by covet’s thought
and a hidden wish for more.
Lust and prejudice are harvested
in dark moments,
when fortune smiles upon one,
leaving another behind.
Anxiety’s cage is opened
releasing antidotes of peace,
introducing sleepless nights
on craving’s pillow.
Life becomes a curse
as happiness flees from avarice,
leaving nothing to nourish the soul,
because envy eats nothing but its own heart.
You sized me up
with limited vision
made your decision
about who I am-
on fleeting impressions
made in mere seconds
wrong as can be, but
you don't give a ____!
At which moment
did shutter click
in what second
was I seen?
(Was I caught
in awkward elegance-
a wistful sigh
an angry glance
at my worst
or at my best
or somewhere in-between?)
How did you define
or classify me?
...could you confine
or categorize me?
If you had taken
more than one
shot of me-
you would surely
contradict yourself.
Feelings are weird
Putting words to something that is so different for everyone
It seems so silly
I’m happy
I’m depressed
These things, and more, mean something a little different for everyone
They happen at different times and for different reasons
We have to accept that there is no perfect way to feel
Everyone is different
We call people emotional, or distant
It is all subjective
We shouldn't try to put labels on things that are so fluid in nature
We shouldn’t try to categorize ourselves
We are all unique
There is no one youer than you
MORNING RITUAL
There’s a southern expression
When someone’s fixin’ to act
Means getting ready to try
To do this, or to do that.
I’m an old soul fixin’ to,
Then, roll over stay in bed.
No way someone young like you
Knows Morning Routines I dread!
Never been an early bird
Husband drags me out of bed
With sleep machine, sleep deeply
Sometimes wonders if I’m dead.
Stop laughing it’s not funny
I don’t like the fix I’m in
Getting elderly’s wicked
I categorize it as sin!
People are gonna have their opinion.
People are gonna talk their smack
People are gonna look down on you
People are gonna laugh at your lack
People are gonna think they’re better
People are gonna categorize you
People are gonna look at you funny,
And people are gonna unjustly despise you.
These are things people can do to
cause us shame, but only if we let them.
The only power people have to cause
us shame is the power we put in their hands.
The old oak stands straight, sturdy and tall
I wonder what would happen, should it fall?
A pillar stiff and cold through ages past
It marks many a story held never told
and in darkest shadows lies more to unfold.
Contest Description
1/4/2017
hello soupers.. I’m back!... oh do quill a new poem in 5 LINES ONLY, each line MUST CONTAIN 8 WORDS, JUST 8 WORDS… excited?.. i am, so let’s light the creative fire using the concept : ROOTS... take this where your muse will lead you… just keep the whole content focused…
creative flow, extraordinary imagery , and poetic substance would go a longgg way! ..too many filler words are not encouraged.. remember we only have 40 words to play with!
the contest name is the title of your poem… kindly date your work and include this challenge so I’ll know it’s for me…
categorize as VERSE... (rhyme or free verse is accepted)
I'm a man apart, repelled by the norm
Got my own path I chose to walk in
My eyes see things on a different wavelength,
my ears are attuned to another frequency
Never thought twice about the separation,
or the price of breaking free from the swarm
Always was comfortable in my own skin,
giving my all requires more than a tenth
Had a destiny to only live in ubiquity,
was told that seeking wisdom was the correlation
I've traveled through life's cosmic storm,
battened the hatches to my soul within
I'm on a mission, don't need to be convinced
Always knew deep down this was how it had to be
Running with the crowd, didn't have that inclination
I'm a man apart, never given to conform
I feel this poem has no existing form. If I am wrong, tell me what form it is. I wish to categorize it as "Step Rhyme" or "Rotating Rhyme." Each verse from the second line of the second stanza steps down. First line from the first stanza rhymes w/the second line of the second stanza. Second line of the first stanza rhymes w/the third line of the second stanza. Etc, etc. The last line of the final stanza rhymes w/the first line of the first stanza. Romantic Warrior
The stares burn my skin,
I fail to conform, becoming faded in the world.
Only one choice: follow others or be forgotten,
The ropes hold me back, forcing me to forget myself.
I feel the pressure to categorize who I am,
Labels controlling the way we act:
Sexuality, gender, and friends,
Without a choice I'll never be accepted.
I choose to separate from the conformist ideology that constricts who I am.
I choose to find the greener grass on the other side.
Schools are cults of intelligence
Sports are cults of athleticism
Families are a cult of similar genetics
Clubs are cults of interests
Bands are cults of music
Businesses are cults of greed
Governments are cults of power
Gangs are cults of inferiority
Art is a cult of creativity
Industry is a cult of logic
Friendships are cults of acceptance
Societies are cults of submission and assimilation
Religions are cults of beliefs
The outdoors is a cult of ecosystems
Living things are a cult of the earth
Discrimination is a cult of ignorance
Philosophy is a cult of deep thinkers
Meekness is a cult of peace
Violence is a cult of war
Hospitals are a cult of the ill
Suburbia is a cult of the middle class
Poetrysoup is a cult of poets
Everything in life is a cult, because people of similar interests or other various similarities find each other and worship what they have in common. People sub-categorize themselves. That is what the cult of mankind is all about.
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.