Settled to watch, inspired by that instant moment,
While seconds send raptures as I gaze all alone.
When day melts into night, a regal bestowment.
Lights begin to shimmer, it softly nears twilight.
The soft gentle perfume of wafts nature's cologne.
The horizon creates a radiance so bright.
This magic captured with a deepest ruby hue.
The artist's kaleidoscope of warm colors shown,
Detailing exquisite soft crimsons etched in view.
Streams of color blend seamlessly in swirls of light.
Brilliant tapestries nature has carefully sewn.
Heavily embossed across the sky, birds in flight.
Now sunset’s glowing color of crimson and gold,
With a sweetness, and a warm tranquil overtone.
As night’s velvety blanket begins to unfold.
Whispering breeze wafting gently, flickers a scent.
Nestled snugly, caressed by joy I've never known.
Evokes aromatic bursts, earthy by intent.
The stanza was written in trailed off silver, circle over circle was wound to form silvery words, embossed around them though the palace sheltered paintings of razor-thin wings bespeckled with blood imprisoned sonnets that zip and fly with the hub, palatial and so endearing, the disembodied whispers are like paint peeling.
Heaven is not the word to awaken,
with lemon balm sprig bristle in each lung,
a staunch loam-ridden citrus bouquet,
in an urban copse of dulcet twittering tone,
avian wrens in sweet floral flute glaze,
whose madrigal a charmed chestnut chime,
vast tree canopy quiver note suspense,
clam shell ear tilt of mine to absorb,
scattered mint fragrant leaf strewn carpet,
pale grey glisten brittle branch snap I twig,
rain soak mud clump squelch quaint echo,
still morning usher draped in lambent haze,
teaser trickle stream tucked away a prickle,
deep purple rose bush as dawn shelter,
grass blade tuft flicker on rimmed bypath,
breathless so I am amidst lavish terrain,
spellbound, captivated, eye transfixed,
by clement backcloth to a city in slumber,
indigo blue signpost embossed bold cue,
for empyrean trope as shrewd street élan,
mural chalk mark swirl from deft artist,
gourmet menu flair neath parasol,
overwhelmed, stunned, air passage empty,
yet my first blush stroll sun vital tonic
Painting…
spotlight
The Christ
yellow
fellow
maidens
fade in
peasants
presence
The cross
embossed (INIR)
Color…
ochre
stroker
orange
for tinge
cobalt
blue thought
Symbol…
arose
God chose
vital
idol
Surface…
canvas
grandness
captures
raptures
Technique…
dual
rurals
movement
Pont-Aven
brush stroke
unbroke
outlined
confined
patterns
lanterns (verb)
flat planes
Gauguin’s
Ounces
pounces
Quite trim
so slim
Sore limb
at gym
Fight flab
with jab
Weight gain
insane
Weight lost
embossed
Shed pounds
in mounds
Too thin
won’t win
Body
shoddy
Real stout
no doubt
So lean
my scene
Perspire
don’t tire
Diet
riot
Food fad
sounds mad
Sweet treat
defeat
Whole grain
sustain
Eat clean
routine
Green veg
has edge
Pure health
best wealth
Digest
what’s best
Fruit shoot
deep root
Salad
valid
Porridge
forage
Junk nosh
tosh tosh
Cow’s milk
lip silk
soya
oh yeah
Light meals
appeals
Relapse
perhaps
Need luck
have pluck
Stay fit
that’s it
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.
The coach of age is moving forward
It doesn’t stop, not for a moment
With us inside, this trip is long
Or maybe not, it ends like song
We’ve been and done, laughed, felt and grieved
Pushed forward, aimed and believed
Sometimes won but often lost
And carry memories embossed
Spawned life, read books and places went
Earned what we could and spent spent spent
Gazed at night skies, imbibed the breeze
Made love and hugged the main squeeze
And while the train is moving on
Those places to which once were drawn
Revisit, not to have remorse
When motion stops and off we’re forced
Talk to thy friends, remember time
When younger were, in our prime
Don’t miss this chance, it will be gone
We disembark while time moves on
Do all the good you can while here
Just do what’s right and feel no fear
These ain’t my words, but wisdom is
And trust not me but your heart, please
Stand tall with nothing to regret
Be all you can and leave no debt
You’d never know what is unread
In book of yours before you’re dead
Lit all the candles while one can
For strangers and one’s own clan
We live, then leave without lore
So, let them burn just little more
January 26, 2026
It’s Jack Frost . . .
The land around is snow embossed.
For warmth, spouses
Cling to each other in closed houses.
3rd place
A prank was pulled by Jack Frost
The whole countryside he embossed
He embroidered colorful fall leaves
From upon the ground, the farmer retrieves
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The mailbox exhales December~
a paper breath
of pine and cinnamon.
Each envelope,
a door left ajar:
inside, the hush of
inked sincerity,
fingers tracing the
embossed edges of
someone’s I thought of you.
No pixels, no ping~
just the slow
theology
of glue and stamp,
the quiet arithmetic
of distance measured
in cardstock.
I lay them on the table
like relics:
Here is proof~
we still reach
without
touching.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
They hang there now: stiff rectangles framed
in cheap pine, proclaiming expertise.
I nailed them up with picture hooks
that bit the plaster, leaving little wounds.
Each one a glyph, a glyphodont’s thick hide—
armor against the who-are-you?
I trace the embossed letters with one thumb—
not gold-leaf, just cheap foil catching light—
and think: This proves I fought. I didn’t break.
The paper’s thin. The frame’s off square.
But oh—how fiercely it holds up the air.
“Mystique”
by Positive Mark
My dearest, ravenous raven, I now approach you with the bill of a Blue Heron, and a one-track mind to sip your affection.
You’re perched in audacious submission, and it enslaves me.
You fit my lifestyle with your feminine wiles, you beautiful, gorgeous Black child.
Neatly petite, with the prettiest feet, my fever grows when you’re painting your toes.
How dare I let a day pass without writing a book about you?
There’s nothing I can do. I’m enamored with you, and engrossed in your mystique.
Your embossed physique drips past my eyes, to my lips, then I use it to moisten my quill.
What is love, but unwavering will?
Those we love don't go away
They walk beside us every day.
They walk with us, in happiness and sorrow,
As our guardian angels in the darkness of night,
Inspired us yesterday, will motivate tomorrow.
So we are fearless when struggles are in sight.
My angels tiptoe gently in dreams when I close my tired eyes,
The mysterious glint in their smiles fills me with sweet surprise!
"How can they be gone" I tell myself, when appears the image of
My wise grandpa scanning newspapers with glasses on his nose,
Watch my grandma quilting a blanket with meticulous details,
Passion for art transforms in compassion for needy, I suppose.
My visionary father with his garden tools, my knight in armour,
Mother, icon of grace, intent on playing music on a sitar!
Siblings and cousins, friends and neighbours, no longer with us,
Their cheerful faces, magical company, beckon from near and far.
Those we love are bound to us
A bond that is never lost,
An invisible connection,
Deep in our soul that's embossed.
Turning with the Days
Form: Tail Rhyme (AABCCB)
Gate 1 of “The Living Voice: The Moon Phases”
I.
The crescent wanes, then waxes wide,
As shadows stretch across the tide.
The stars begin their hush.
The morning dreams still cling to skin,
While silence hums its sound within.
The trees in stillness blush.
II.
I turn as does the sky above,
In rhythm with the pulse I love.
Each moment makes its mark.
The days unravel, coil, and spin,
Revealing truths once held within—
A torch beneath the dark.
III.
So let the spiral wind my name,
A song of light, of dust, of flame.
No path is ever lost.
I turn, the tide becomes my way,
The moonlight folds into the day—
And I, in breath, embossed.
(If I hadn't walked past my older brother's bedroom door
I wouldn't have realized that I needed some more)**
Ladies and Gentlemen, his time came much sooner
Then we could have imagined, now mourning this crooner
On the verge of this pinnacle, about to be on top
I speak of the memorial of one Reginald Belford Scott
Just a statement to the world with this cover
Simply to let us all know they need time to mourn for their brother
All colors, no colors, none segregated
Black placard venerated
From the opening bells tolling, decibels reverberated
To the ending with a rock n roll sermon elevated
A power punch with this Nineteen Eighties driller (all killer no filler)
Now the second bestselling album to Michael Jackson’s “Thriller”
Yes, it’s plain with an embossed band’s logo
It’s a value (not a hue) as far as artists go
It leaves much to our imaginations
I think that’s on purpose, to allow ruminations
So, here’s some peace for all those who lack
Wait for the headlines, we will be “Back in Black”
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.