Dear little fly,
You didn't have to die,
But you've made a crucial mistake.
You said that you'll come over.
Then you flew over my sofa
And landed next to my chocolate cake.
Your two small wings
In the air it sings,
Though it's annoying in my ear.
And to no one's surprise,
Your untimely demise
Will become your very worst fear.
When I finally saw you,
I only yelled, "SHOO!"
You thought you had more lives than a cat.
But you landed on the wall
And had a great fall;
For my Giant Fly Swatter went SPLAT!
You just sealed your doom.
And now, with my broom,
You were swept up and laid to rest.
In the garbage you go,
Because you're too slow:
Good-bye, you miserable pest!
all these candles tell me to die,
but one is my wish to live
Poetry is more than a feeling to me.
It's a path to express what others can't see.
It's what I feel when the glass is full.
What I do when I feel breathless
and want to feel whole.
The kind little girl is trying to live.
She's swinging her wings.
She's trying to give what others denied,
trying to feel which feelings are right.
Poetry is more to me than just art.
Even if ,the road is stark
the soft words of love coming from my heart
are always there, even in the dark.
It always stays,
won't ever break,
won't be destroyed
or ever be late.
It gives me reason to stay
instead of trying to escape.
Poetry is the love to myself
that I denied to accept
because I was scared
that it'd be taken away.
But no one can take the words out my mind.
The weapons I spit to feel defined.
The words I use to cut myself
and everyone else who tries to help,
because there's nothing I need more
than to express myself.
Thoughts can overwhelm,
but this is the tool to fool your mind,
make it believe all you write and rhyme.
Poetry means life to me.
The most beautiful poem suits you,
written simply, like your own beauty;
with the soft dawn breeze
dancing lightly upon the curtain
as it drifts through the open window;
like a rose half-open—the bloom of youth—
a stanza paused at the break of day.
May the breeze blow ceaselessly,
and you unfold from the curtain’s folds
like a butterfly emerging from the shadows,
your face a trail of light at daybreak
awaiting the rising sun,
your beauty revealing itself in full splendor—
a verse that touches the firmament.
Let the breeze rise from the depths of your soul,
stirring the curtain with a flickering pulse—
your form, a cherished vision,
drifting through the open window;
in your dark eyes, the sea
becomes a mirror of the sky,
with words like lighthouses in the boundless blue.
And should the time come for the breeze to fall silent—
as if a hand had closed the window—
you will dance lightly upon the curtain,
moving eternally within its graceful folds,
your beauty shining in the firmament;
the words in these verses
will speak only of you, forever.
You are as real to me as any other living thing
I can see. Alive and indestructible
Words are one of very few things that cannot
be taken from us
Even if conditions are such
that those words must only live
inside our minds.
Even before the completion
of one work of art on paper,
you have already been born somewhere
in my psyche
Until it's time to knock on the door and
come out
You
have always been with me
You are one reason I was born
to express you, share you
We, together, touch others
with honesty, beauty, smiles, tears,
even regret or angst
Whatever it is they need most
at the time
Your rhyme so satisfies me
like nothing else. We are a team
To write is better than the best dream
It's the closest I am able to come to eternity
There is no time. Time does not exist when
we are composing.
There is nothing else and
nothing I want for
when I'm with you
When I leave this limited space,
we will float away together
a feather
for the future
Whatever it may be
Thank you, Poetry
You came and linger into my life so early
Through recitation, you dwelled upon me
You played a big role in my stage of growing up
When I learned many poems to gesture
Innocently, I was joyfully seated on your lap.
Appreciation to your splendor promptly started
At young age, rhymes easily retained in my head
If sometimes I needed to share some ideas at school
And reflections on bible verses at churches
Mostly were expressed in rhymes… so fun, so cool.
At teen age years, when I’d an infatuation or crush
My scribbled short rhyme poem was sent in a rush
One of those boys sent me back his reply
My joy was flailing high for it was love letter in rhyme
After a year or two, I found out, a song of Air Supply.
Ever since I was in the field of my profession
You’ve been a great help as I impart skills, my vocation
I’ve compositions for my children’s choral recitation
Written in English and in our own language
For our class, campus programs and competitions.
My dearest poetry, you’re my best buddy
In all seasons, you’re here for me
To light my path, giving powers or energy
My forever gratitude for your company
You’re my precious gift from our God, Almighty.
Dear Poetry, you touch me in ecstatic beauty.
Me to undertake this responsibility.
Might be specified as a poet’s duty.
When I try to compose any poem,
It must sparkle in mind of reader as gem.
I should hold that spirit and carry that aim.
Whatever be theme it sinks in abyss of heart
in pleasant soothing style for impact to exert,
putting me absorbed not allowing apart.
Poem to resonate with rhythm of heart and soul
Unspoken syllable to voice or to roll.
Unknown zone of perception to explore and scroll.
‘Solace in grief, inspiration in despondence,
Sensing love and peace, bringing bliss on elegance,’
My performance as poet may reach excellence.
O, dear poetry, how old are you?
give me a glimpse, The Story of Sinuhe
the art just might predate literacy,
before the birth of the written word, BCE
Tale of the Shipwrecked Sailor the eldest fictious
the Epic of Gilgamesh on papyrus
the world’s oldest love poems, verselets
Homer’s ancient epics
Compositions made for spoken word
I finally found out from all I’ve heard
what my dear poetry means to me
the love of artistic lyrical spontaneity
learning of words using them expressively
or impressively, excessively, whatever it takes
with poetic license, there are no mistakes
Works that lead to electric elucidation
with rhythmic flow, meter and alliteration
my primo priority is; my poem pieces make sense,
with rhyme and my love for classic cadence
having the quality of amatory ambiguity,
steered adrift with ominous obscurity
strapping images of suggestive metaphors
I’ll write to inspire as do the troubadours…..
You mock me again
as fevered wrist begins to pulse
from the hinges... barbed vignettes glide,
while swoosh of rain 's ink
bathes upon the sill's lattice...
I reach for its nectar ,
this breath sipping the language of words
yearning to be born :
From my window,
a gush filters through hooks
... muddying my quill on shingles
your verses bouncing around, round
to tumble into drafts of musings
searching for silence In chaos--
for moist within my drying cave ;
and from this irreverent place,
I allow the grace of muse's charm
to open my soul's voice like an outpour
of virginal dew...
a promise to cruise into your unknown trails,
this papyrus enticed, lines mocking me again :
Somehow, late dusk arrives with tinge of lamplight
bringing a thrill along my fingers ,
sensualidad grating , yes...rising like so,
ready to greet the ache, the tremble,
the ravaged beginnings
of pain's melody... half-desecrated, half-wise.
Dear Poetry,
You’ve been with me since I began feeling my emotions.
Threw you, I hear rhymical sounds of chimes and
a bewitching mix of sweetness of blue expanse and
fresh flowers within the wind’s play.
Threw you, I capture the exciting magic of color around me.
As I sit and watch the moving shadows of nature at dawn,
the changing shades of red, orange, pink, purple, and yellow
appear as dusk appears at my doorstep.
Or fall asleep to the cool, welcoming, darkened twilight and
iridescent moon against the clouds.
Life can sometimes be overwhelming, devouring, and
impossible to understand as it sets foot at my doorstep.
I take each step forward with love, faith, hope, and
wisdom, and you leave a peace within.
Through you, I can be honest about my human life experiences
that ties us together, those shared threads that connect us all.
Without you, I would be silent.
To Dear Simar on her birthday
Adorable, charming,
sweet mesmerising smile,
Familiar grace,
twinkle in dreamy eyes;
Essence of wisdom,
unfolding humour,
You subtly touched
our longing heart;
Our son’s cherished soul,
You became our daughter
from the very start.
Watching you together
brings us joy,
For in your happiness
our hearts abide.
O’ dear Simar…
Treasure our love
endless unseen, crystal pure,
Feel in inner sanctum,
realm of myriad realisms;
Soft as mist of rain,
tranquil as moonshine,
Heavens will fall
as you requite.
On this special day,
beneath the birthday skies,
May the eloquent elixir
flow deep to marrow,
Abundance embrace
through dusk and dawn,
Wherever life may take
you both to roam,
May love and laughter
always lead you home.
We raise a toast
to this beautiful day,
To the lovely soul
who lights our way;
May your every dream
each wish come true,
How blessed we are
that life brought us you.
September 1, 2026
© Dr Upma A. Sharma
Dear Poetry,
We met when I was just a child,
Still full of dreams, a little wild.
But then time held me in your grasp,
So many thrills, my soul forever clasp.
We found each other on summer nights,
Unburdened by plans or tempting delights.
Life took us over some slips and turns,
When my spirit knew its deepest concerns.
We knew the amazing of autumn’s mist,
Such love when September and October kissed.
Joy would tremble inside our soul,
Playing a song that would make us whole.
We once died in the arms of a prayer,
Feelings blessed by praise to share.
In the wind, I felt the breath of grace,
Needless to say, you – time wouldn’t erase.
We knew each other when things were good
And, with you inside, I always felt understood.
Melancholic, excited or elated – I always knew
You were the music that felt so fresh and new.
We wouldn’t believe that our story would end,
You were the answer to a prayer that God would send.
I’m thankful for your friendship, one so very rare,
Because of you, my friend, I know how much I care.
I shape my thoughts with words to be my guide
to write poetry that speaks the unknown
whether by thought or a heart-felt tide
that flows within me in a fractured tone
poetry unfolds puzzles from its edge
so, I can mold my words without hubris
this tapered tool becomes a worded wedge
to lift my spirit when I feel helpless
it strips confusion from the shrouded dark
and cleanse my words of all my old blunders
so, I may write lines from one small spark
that comes to me and my soul I plunder
you ask, what has poetry meant to me?
it lets my mind grow deeper and be free
Dear Poetry,
Wait! I AM poetry.
So, let's make that, "Dear Poet".
Dear Poet,
Why do you write me?
Or, should I say, "Why DID you write me?"
After all, I'm already being read by my audience.
Isn't that right, reader?
I wrote you, dear poetry,
to express whatever crazy thought or feeling
was in my brain or heart,
giving it a chance to escape
that bat house or that broken down heap,
knowing that no one has to listen,
as the reader
(if you can believe it)
is reading you voluntarily!
...and, by the time you are being read, dear poetry,
I, the poet, am long gone,
and the person with egg on their face,
(i.e., the "poetry")
is you!
Sincerely,
the Poet (er, the Poetry, er, oh, for heaven's sake!)
Dear poetry, my intrinsic ally,
Inaudible voice striving to be heard,
There’s a lifelong pact between you and I -
Crafting lasting legacy, word by word.
I have wild notions and an endless drive,
You mix the inspiration and the muse,
I pen the drafts, you spark them all to life -
You’ve got the final say I can’t refuse.
Respectfully I gracefully accept
The harsh rejection of a ruthless judge.
So when you deem my rough copy inept,
I vacillate but I don’t hold a grudge.
I posit we two share the ties that bind -
Literally I’m tied up to a chair.
Quid pro quo I reciprocate in kind -
If I don’t pen you, you haven’t a prayer.
Dear, you’re stuck with me, even if you try,
Unless you swap my sweatwork for AI!
August 30, 2026
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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.