Adrift
Loving life along this disjointed time,
things adrift, no shore in sight.
Left so angry, right so right,
so what’s the future we invite?
Borders broken, countries thinned,
against His will, and almost sin.
Division sold as new inclusion,
the modern day illusion.
Group against group,
the idealist soup,
roar control,
no good for any soul.
Philosophy rolls on and on,
ideologies at ping pong,
roaming the earth like an unwritten song.
Where and what is the end game?
We’ll all go insane before we learn its name.
Poetry soup admin I do commend
no poetry division do you recommend
There seems to be some poets who think they're upper class
Me a pleb who's down below think the idea of division is a farce
Some poems that are posted
I cannot make head nor tail
In a class I term esoteric
Does this mean as a poet
my poetry attempts deserve to fail
For me the point of posting poems
whatever form I've written the reader understands
Who would be the referees to decide what poems meet a standard
The decision by the Poetry Soup admin I do clap my hands
So much to do, so little time
So little to do, so much time
So Life unfolds in phases all its own
A life’s work made whole by halves
A woman’s may never be done
While a man’s may have yet to begun.
(7/4/26)
While
they fight
and argue --
They fail
to evolve
and become
Blind to
the bigger
picture.
They tally the dead in columns of light,
but no ledger holds the weight of a child’s last breath~
the way it lingers, unspent, in the air,
like a kite cut loose from its string.
War has no pockets deep enough
to carry all the excuses we stitch
into its uniform. Every bullet
that misses its mark
finds a name anyway.
And what of the hands that never held a gun,
only bread, only the hem of a mother’s dress?
They become the subtraction
no one speaks aloud~
the hollow where laughter once lived.
And what’s left?
A remainder called guilt,
sticky as jam on a rifle stock,
thick as the lies they stamp onto medals.
War doesn’t solve.
War is the long division
that never ends.
You claim to hate math, but you love division;
Subtracting peace with every calculated decision.
You multiply chaos like it's long addition;
And solve for drama with precise precision.
You divide the bond that once made us whole;
Splitting unity just to satisfy your greedy soul.
You can’t balance love if conflict is the lenses you see your vision.
You’ll never find truth in division, till you divide your own illusion.
Division is daunting, it can make you feel hurt, and alone.
Division is evil, it can make you feel empty and lost.
Division is like the way God explained we are alone when he is not by our side, because we have followed ways that have divided us from his laws.
Division of love, of life, of happiness, of all we need to feel right, can leave us with ways that hurt us.
Division from the garden of Eden, left us here, making us struggle with everyday issues that make us feel blue.
Division we have been told is a way to conquer and take control of a people, an area, a mind, a soul, just to mention a few.
Division is a way that love gets broken in two, and made to suffer from the division that leaves us feeling blue.
Choose love, choose the path that leads to love and life, stay off the path of division, and walk in the light.
May God, shine light into our life, may we see and pray for all that is right, and make our path in life happy and full of love and light.
Lifting prayers to God, today and always.
Time divides the line,
We define the ride,
Coinciding with the Divine,
Colliding atoms combine,
Creating the outline,
The vibrations shine,
Aligned perfectly,
Reflecting colors in a design,
Collecting together intertwined,
Winding through space,
Finding a dense place,
Playing chase with particles,
Articulating a form,
The normal procedure,
Reality's best feature,
As we build our creature,
The teacher of this experience,
Experimenting with existence,
Measuring distance in increments,
Continuing to make imprints,
Each instant forever embossed,
No moment is ever lost,
Reach across your limits,
Admit you created it,
Sit within an open mind,
You'll find time open wide,
Dividing the line,
Between now and the Divine.
What is bad in your mind may be good in theirs,
What is good in theirs may trouble yours.
Who are they? Another human shaped by stories handed down,
Lines drawn long ago that still divide the ground.
Parts of the world once distant, rarely crossed,
Boundaries that felt fixed, though many were lost.
Now governments play games, rewriting maps and names,
Letting distant cultures meet, unprepared for the strain.
A clash of worlds unfolding like a game,
Whose move now — and who will carry the blame.
You wear your flag like a second skin,
the colors bright, the threads worn thin;
And speak of victories long ago,
In voices proud, yet soft and low.
The tales are told, again, again
the triumphs carved in dust and pen;
The papers shout what you should hear,
While silencing what’s less sincere.
You count your coins, you guard your name,
you say it’s just a noble game;
But shadows stir beneath your cheer,
A trembling hand you won’t let near.
And so we stand on separate ground,
no shared horizon to be found;
Yet in the gap, I almost see
A kind of peace for you and me.
Rosie Registered Retinas
Evidence Erased Easily
Dogma Driven Division
God Proper
is pure Light and
Love –
as long as
man declares division,
governs by lesser-ego,
setting God apart
from himself – then,
God divided
manifests presence
as opposing elements
of positive and negative
charges –
(however, magnetic attraction
will always be present
regardless – a universal constant)
then, best attempt at harmony~
would be, balance by way
of managed distance --
whether man is aware
or not,
creation is always one
with its creator, all substance
varying degrees of divine consciousness – Universal
mind)
man using divisive nature, at the same
time thinking himself separate~ appendages
of imagined individuality while on an indivisible
body of Universal Presence – actual division is
illusion of consciousness – it only exists
mentally --
when man accepts
Christ-consciousness --
closer he moves
toward sentient association
with his indwelling divinity --
Acquiescence to
Christ’s lead does not manifest as loss of
volition...but, to the contrary, such surrender
becomes gateway for heightened personification
of Kinship with The Father Godhead --
When the cold winds blow
And the hostile natives are restless
It’s time to wake up, smell the coffee
And cut your losses.
What is there to push back on, after all,
But the bitter taste
Of someone else’s resentment;
The mighty wind of their off-gassing.
The world is wild and cruel
Even within the treacherous smile of neighbors
When dog eats dog possesses their mind
You find yourself one of the dispossessed.
In this open, exposed and lonely place
Circle the wagons of your resolve
Recognize those you hold dear
And take solace in their love.
(4/13/25)
ode to Hoopoes
Must be a bird, to fathom a prodigy
Mundane eyes do not often look up, high up to find any silhouettes anymore.
They do not often chill out with the loneliest kite
Soaring high with the tilted sun, a day is touched in deep around the eve
After Nemo is served, you may strum along your new thriller, blessed by Steve.
Any chapter that travels with you, sits there for a while
keeps you warm underneath the blanket, to fix a slip, meanwhile.
The division
Here in this landscape of bushes and crippled trees
the grotesque peace of daylight ghosts
grey boughs stretching upward appeal to a soundless god.
“Give us today a new life.” There is only one deity
the almighty one, go under the name of Silvanus.
Those who do not understand this are doomed to
a life of empty pursuit of pleasures.
Crowded nightclubs and casinos, people trying not to be alone
in the night and face the truth
we are mortals and infrequently remembered as a photo
a black frame, seeing you, seeing through
you and into an ever-expanding void.
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.