A clever man strides into a cleverer room
Of those he believes to be below him
But what of those behind the other door
A barrier of intellect between them
With doctorates and knowledge so sure
That they are but the best
Let all believe without others' regard
That their presence glows beyond the rest
What is confidence without carelessness
Blind eyes to incompetence
The best today is tomorrow's worst
And next week's insignificance
The view of see through sea
The pigment of my own eye lid
I hone myself within with all my ability
I hummed a beat that I could and did
That this method could bring me down to earth
That first experience of birth
I journey through my thoughts
I passed the vein that I see and cought
Like a river that just awoked
Like an energy that could not be choked
My eyes are still closed, but my mind seems open
My movement and breath I could listen
This take me to one thought my heart
This is all within all living things chart
One day you have to shut your eyes
Become one within a journey that defies
Silence the waves that hit the shore,
Silence the birds they call no more.
Silence the souls lost in night,
Silence echoes no more they fight.
Screams the waves that crash and break,
Screams that cause the thin air to shake.
Screams that tear the soul apart,
Screams that pierce to the heart.
Silently, the screams fill the air,
Screams rising from deep despair.
Silent screams, scream silently.
Silently I scream …. defiantly.
I've never been one for tight spaces
Where you have to conform
Cause no one actually cares that you're different
Cause they themselves started that way
They started with a lot of charisma
With the world as their tapestry to share their ideas
They got people listening,
Until one day when nobody listened any more
And instead of reinventing themselves they caved in
Cause they wanted to fit in
They didn't want to be left out
In those small spaces where only a few get in
They talk down on us with the charisma
Saying it will also die down soon
But I keep reinventing myself
It's hard to slow down when you're pacing about
And that's why I keep moving even when the odds ain't in favour
Maybe I don't care about the odds
Or I don't even understand how the game is played that's why I keep winning
Cause I don't overthink, I just roll the dice and play
And I have a good laugh while I'm at it
The PO£T
The ripples of email tones
clinging like the tail of a serpent
snap the bent waist
of dreams bowed like pasque blooms
Pressed tight and exacting
a drought soaked soul steeped in dream
becomes a black albino
dissolving into white air
A heart like a furnace
holding cooled magma
breaks into a rough ritual rhythm
raising red cold sweat
Facing what should have been ignored
courage rises
to raise bruised wisdom higher
it carves a hidden spring
I did not bow when shadows came
Nor beg the dark for leave,
The clock struck once—my name, my breath
And still I would not grieve.
For Death arrived in velvet steps,
With iron in his smile,
He offered crowns and wisdom,
I laughed—and stood awhile.
My eyes were wide as midnight seas
That swallow stars and prayer,
I met his gaze, unblinking still,
And found no mercy there.
No trembling plea escaped my tongue,
No god was left to call,
I bore my soul like broken glass
And watched the curtains fall.
Let cowards sleep in softened dark,
Let faith avert its sight—
I walked awake into the end
And named the ending mine.
If doom must claim this mortal frame,
It shall not take my will;
I crossed that threshold standing firm,
My heart—defiant still.
(This poem focuses on a defiant refusal to surrender to heartbreak)
My heart may break,
but I will not fall.
Grief may bend me,twist me,
make me ache,
but I refuse to wallow,
refuse to crawl.
I will stand,I will fight the darkness.
I choose to live,
to breathe again,
to find my strength.
The loss is a scar,not a grave.
I am undefeated,
I am free.
A poet exposes scenes to explore new horizons
unfolding under expansive or confining domes
We slow it down, decelerate, discern
unveiling are a fable's morals and concerns
taking pause to commune with fauna and elm
serenely does nature speak throughout her realm
our phrases linger with new colors
hues vibrant encompass as skylines
our dimensions broaden anew
sentences chosen carefully carry more import
with words nuanced, renewed
with a more sentient bite
with emotions more candid
abashedly bare, a despair founded
with paroxysm of catharsis we quill
weeping of our dormant essence shaken to life
confessions deepening, plunging in thought
letting the afflatus of passion flow
I Am Anaya
quill & inkwell love
11/14/25
We raise the quill in trembling hope,
Not merely scribes of passing days,
But fighters for the silent rights
That echo through the darkened ways.
We shatter walls built on despair,
Aspiring toward the promised light;
In every human face we find
The spark of peace, the call to fight.
We scan the ruins of old systems,
Discern the false from what is true;
We cast aside the stale old feed
That numbs the soul and dims the view.
From ash we craft a soaring hymn,
For every voice that broke in fear;
We honor dignity and life,
In every breath and trembling tear.
The quill becomes our sword of soul,
Steadfast when hope begins to fade;
In God’s own love we find the ground,
On which our human rights are laid.
The truth march on in patient seeds,
Small acts of mercy, loss, release;
Till peace arrives as gentle dawn,
And every heart finds its release.
Pens do not merely stain papers,
They are swords to fight battles seldom won.
Poets don their armor of words and thoughts,
And cry bloody war to keep the ink from turning red.
We stand tall in the face of hunger,
Starving for morsels of change to fill our appetite.
Our muses know no discrimination,
As we weave tales that travel lands long forgotten.
We cry out in plea through silent letters,
And render life to those who have lost their will.
We are poets --
Thus we exist for all,
And all exist for us.
"The pen must go where the pen wants to go." By Poet
Who is the poet?
They are dreamers about words and life,
making both come to life for their readers.
A true poet's quill,
writes from their loving and creative heart.
Did you know, August 18,
Is National "Bad" Poetry Day?
One day of the year all writers,
have a chance to make a change with their words.
Can we remember a rhyme is to rhyme?
not kind of or sort of rhyme.
A Limerick is five lines of funny,
not sad or depressing words.
Many have told me,
less words can be more meaningful.
I am stopping here,
and having a fun day writing away with my quill.
Written: November 3rd, 2025
************
A poet is more than a penman—
not merely a rash historian of verse.
We shatter the ordinary,
aspiring to the nirvana of heaven,
unwavering in the face of decay.
We explore the remnants of society,
discern the divine from the false,
cast aside the sustenance fed to tired souls
and build soaring meditations from ash.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
war-torn field lies cracked and bare,
where shrapnel blooms once choked the air.
a single shoot, defiant, thin,
pierces the ash with trembling green.
dew softens scars where tanks once rolled.
new leaves unfold, a story told
in patient stems that reach, unbowed—
let peace take root, not be avowed.
To bow my head before oppression
was never written in my genetic code.
To play the slave for a miserable wage,
and pray to the god of those slave-masters
in order to taste the pleasures of prosperity,
is nothing but a nightmare.
If I do not love you,
I will tell you straight in the eyes,
like those independence fighters
born of my genealogical tree.
I hate the hypocrites,
the deceitful, the envious,
the liars, the racists, the traitors,
and those human beings who lie down
beneath the weight of oppression.
I am the expression of a humanity
freed from the burdens
of Western societal conformity.
I despise propriety
when the environment is hostile.
When I suffer,
my demons seize control of the vessel.
I have but one life,
one journey,
one dusk,
before the reaper
comes to harvest my tainted soul.
My allegiance is to Africa,
despite the chaos that has reigned there for centuries.
I will remain bound
to the cradle of humanity
until my final dusk.
a space time matter
is gravity's defiance
flouting skydivers ~
Indoors space is limited
skywards, time is limited
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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.