Connecting dots is gathering
the quiet movements of time,
moments scattered like sparks
across the map of a life.
Each dot stands alone at first,
its own small universe,
a single breath of experience
waiting to find its place.
But slowly, they drift together,
forming constellations of memory,
galaxies built from seconds,
minutes, hours, days,
weeks, months, years,
and the long stretch of decades.
Patterns emerge from the chaos,
simple lines growing into
complex shapes of who we are.
A universe takes form,
unique, unrepeatable,
drawn from every choice,
every joy, every wound.
Yet the world around us
shapes the way we connect them.
Society, environment, circumstance,
they bend the lines,
shift the angles,
challenge the pathways
between one moment and the next.
Still, we keep tracing,
dot by dot,
until the picture becomes clear:
a life made luminous
by the way we choose
to connect our stars.
we have a tiny A.I. in every room
seven all together, thanks to my groom
one wakes me up, another reads me to sleep
I listen to sounds of the Amazon deep
One A.I. tells me jokes as I happily paint
her knowledge is spot on, never old fashioned or quaint
If I want a fact, I turn to an A.I.
She’s my encyclopedia, do or die.
Have you seen those cotton dots
fluffy spots, there’s quite a lot
have you seen those cotton dots
up among the trees?
Touch those fuzzy cotton dots
pile them into bags and cots
soft white balls of silky knots
flowing in the breeze.
Pick those cuddly cotton dots
weave them into shirts and socks
spin to yarn, there’s quite a lot
up among the trees.
Dominoes aligned in a row
Dots white on black mix and match
Offshoots branch out into tangents
Wordku: 5-7-5 words
AP: 1st place 2025
Conjugal rights were done by 1971 ~
as reproductive rights saw the light of the sun
Dominoes in a sequenced pattern
branching out randomly askew across long table
~ mix-and-matching dainty dots
Wordku: 5-7-5 words
AP: 2nd place
Dots on the globe called locations
tied to times, places, and situations,
arranged in haphazard design,
their inspiration, anything but divine.
Dancing dots that you can't see
Dance messages of love from me
And when I finish I hit send
Then when they reach you on your end
You'll know that I just thought of you
Even though I always do
A moment taken to be still
And write my thoughts of you at will
If every thought got off my chest
These dancing dots would never rest
So maybe it's really for the best
When you can't see each dot expressed
Physicists may say,
'Random is not truly random,
it only appears to be,'
but another theory goes,
(according to me)
'Not so when playing games of chance,'
(and I have done the sums)
for this experiment logic states,
'The odds in favour are 5 to 1.'
As I spy with my little eye,
seeing spots and counting dots
on a regular die,
(these don't go to 11)
the 2 opposing sides,
of which there are 6, total 7.
So throw the bones or toss the dice,
whichever way you slice 'em,
when you're done having fun,
in all, the pips on a single die number 21.
And the line at the bottom...
roll 'em if you got 'em!
.
if i only wanted
yourn
how silly would i
be
how complicated
thingz would
get
i mine burly
with
just
yourn
no
i insist you
bring
that
polka dot
wispy swimdress
it coverz
your
mine
fine
Reflecting feelings, glowing gentle
Was their story merely accidental?
Him and her, colors of love, flowing
Feelings pouring out hope, knowing
Whatever comes, they would share
The remarkable this liaison would declare
patterns
from
points
viewed as a whole
beauty
revealed
white
visible between
little dots
frozen forever
in
intermingled
completeness
as our eyes
fill the
gap
static light
making a point
As Another July Day Dawns
Stippling . . .
The leaves of the trees
S p a t t e r i n g …Their
Silhouettes
filling my window
(Barely to be seen while stll so early)
The dark dots …
of the remains
Of the night’s
Weeping
leaving hymn spreading —
with its soft graphite gray
blanket background
Rippling
(as if caught in some
Lasting
d r e a m
Unwilling to reach its
e n d i n g
…Leaving
and so to be sliding aside
for this day’s gracing
Dawn
sun to rise
~ coaxed by the fading background grays
Now
blushing
into neon light gray/white
flakes
of dawn spattering like a Christmas in
July snow with
This
r i s i n g
Tickling
my poet’s tongue…
(c) sally young eslinger 7/2024
When you're on space
Everything you see are dots
It's big or small.
She is pretty in polka dots
They are all over her clothes
On her eye mask, her shirt
And in freckles on her nose
She loves polka dots as much as most
They make her look fancy, she is a great host
She loves them in red, blue, turquoise and pink.
Her imagination says it helps her to think.
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.