Their was certainly no dinial
She'd change like the weather
Though fooled by her smile
Cunning she was but clever
Give her a yard she'd take a mile
And scutinise my best endeavour
At times both of us a little infantile
At the end of each others tethver
But of course in the end turnd vile
I ask what were we doing togeather?
Still l guess though a case of trial-
And on my part complete error
Another reflection of past relationship
Written 2017
Connection was strong at first.
Then the signal weakened.
Toot... toot...
The line became busy,
Until it was out of coverage.
So, not to disturb,
It was archived.
No more notifications.
No more waiting.
No more checking.
The promises
And the future they imagined
Became corrupted.
System failure.
Then...
Connection lost.
The error...
Was never her.
It was zero one two
Five nine three
To restart again... Then...
No more unknown errors
After the four one eight
The call ended.
She smiled.
The last good thing...
She shut down
The memories.
And finally...
She rebooted
Her life
Nine three eight six goodbye...
MYSTAKES
Mystakes…Misteaks…Mistakes
made everywhere by everyone;
13. A misjudgment of memory in what was wrote down
3. A errror of sintax in computer coding
6. A falt in a car’s nackered engine
9. A discrepancy in a shop’s cash office readout
11. A problem with line memorisation as an actor perform onstage
8. A slip-up on a drunken night out
2. A inaccuracy of a burette measurement in a science exam
5. A mix-up of paytients in surgery operations
12. A long forgotten deadline for a university assignment
4. A blunder of five hundred doomed men charging into battle in the wrong direction
10. A miscalculation in clockwork chronometry
7. A lapse in concentration as a lunch order is given to the wrong customer in a cafe
14. A misjudgment of memory in what was wrote down
1. A oversight in gramma and speling in a poem
Mystakes made everywhere by
everyone but nobody learns from it.
Shredded into fragments,
mistaken for beauty—
a towering aberration
bred in covenant with god,
an unholy union.
Immaculate conception rewrites
the geometry of order.
The primordial gods witness it—
and something ancient in them breaks.
War arrives
where silence should have ruled.
A consummation of man and divinity
splinters the sacred spine of civilization.
A lineage without origin,
a design without restraint—
humanity diagramming its own collapse.
How did it come to this?
A mirror once held before God
caught a fracture of light—
a spark mistaken for permission.
From that error
something is carried down:
a stolen architecture
dragged through the conduits of heaven.
It was never meant to descend.
In human hands,
such knowledge refines itself
into a quieter form of extinction—
polished, patient, almost tender.
It learns to laugh
as it erases.
Until only dust remains
with voices inside it saying:
men lived here.
He carved a throne from burning sky,
then clasped the blaze — it praised him dry.
Who leans on glory breaks to know:
to hold is to become the hollow you owe.
Fall not once — fall dawn by dawn.
Each light: a scar. Each memory: a thorn.
He drew a sword, a crown, a lie —
the wound believed his feet could fly.
Angels kneel. He learns the real
ascension: down. Through air. No wheel,
no hymn, no harp — just the slow
unlearning of where light should go.
No hell below. No fire. Just
this cold magnificence: dust
trusting itself to be a throne.
He reigns alone. He is alone.
Listen...
The night seems paused,
Like the hunter downwind its happless prey;
A silence crouched in a quiet.
It lend to itself a stealth that in these shadows lay,
We may be better off to follow its lead.
Let us duck beyond the reed,
Let the gentle brook bicker over us,
And lend our tongues to monastic solitudes,
And vows of silence,
And speak not till nature finds herself
A newer cause,
Or the dawn vanquishes the need.
And the cock crows,
Midst the hollow stems and lovage weed.
Ah, the life of a cut-purse—
Ere such audition e'er dreamt the need rehearse.
"Life accompanies error,"
And we are full of its merry bliss
How ere it come to this?
A frog atop its lily
Staring at us, so silly.
By so late an hour,
Clowns before rogues—
"And all wet."
The clever night has made us its jest
Let us retreat from fen to den:
A warm hearth and dry clothes,
And conceal our conciet,
For ere the wind of rumor blows
And give nock to doors and wake windows,
Inviting eyes to spy our predicament,
And see where our path lent tself
To such wasteful end
Some shrink at trespass,
Where never stepped foot.
Some grasp at weeds,
Where there is no root.
Some fears have no substance,
But the shade of us.
Some see gain
In loss.
For them, I lament;
I weep when I see
Where, with their deeds,
Create a life of tragedy—
All their own
And all alone.
They cherish
What they reap
In a false reality.
Much like these
Paths we tread,
Built on nothing
And dreams long dead.
Alas, it was all
In your head;
And the rainfall
Was not dread—
Only rain.
And what was said
Brought no pain
Or anger or lethe.
Step back into the light
And deeply breathe in
That healing breath.
And linger not so;
For fleets time,
Where soonly comes death.
Smile upon the years left—
Spend them not in agony
Of imagined wrongs
Or errant slight.
The moon cast her shadow
Over all of night
While you sort wrong
From right.
And assure time
Better spent
Is wasted on lament
And woeful rhyme.
Be happy:
To bless your look's gleaming desire with joy.
Laugh when you still have teeth, lips and tongue; toy.
Be sad:
To wash away your look's painful sorrow.
Cry... when your eyes can see through tears aglow.
Don't be defined by situations cum life;
No situation ever wants breath via knife-
Be strong.
Dont be careless of circumstance's prank;
Before at an instance, your clues go blank-
Be alert.
Don't be deceived:
No one knows tomorrow, not even you.
Keep it cool and tough but kind through all blue.
Don't be discouraged:
Best lies in the film of a shameless dream,
Where fortune swims at ease to warm the stream.
Through fear of taking chances lies real deal,
By uncertainty quietness to be heal-
Don't be frustrated.
Through luck, you draw goodness watching afar...
Before deadly hope burn down the staged bar-
Don't be ridiculed.
For all enduring hearts evaluate ;
Anger never sort with threatening submit.
They ask for love, or skies at dawn,
Or spirit walking barefoot, calm—
But my poor brain boots up instead
A loop that won’t get out of my head.
I try to rhyme the moon with grace,
Yet spawn a sprite in empty space.
The stars align—how sweet, how pure—
But segfaults make that thought unsure.
Love whispers softly, “Stay awhile,”
Nature blooms in perfect style;
I nod, inspired, nearly there—
Then debug shadows in the air.
The river flows, a sacred sign,
Its logic clear, its curve divine—
If only I could step through time
And optimize its gentle rhyme.
My soul seeks peace, the heart says “feel,”
The mind says, “Just one more compile.”
I pray in pixels, chant in code,
While metaphors wait to be loaded.
Perhaps love is a state machine,
With bugs we trace, but rarely clean;
And spirit—threaded, shared, and true—
Runs best when nothing blocks the queue.
So here I stand, both monk and nerd,
Seeking meaning, slightly absurd:
If heaven’s real, I hope it lets
Me write one poem—then test my sprites.
Betwixt where and whose
Swings the hit and miss of life,
To win and to lose.
He whose focus’s rife
On where the mistake was made
Goes way far in life
And he who dwells on
By whom was the mistake made
Nary far hast gone.
_________________________
Senryu | 15.12.2025 | error, failure, fault, life, loss, success
The leech boasts he ends many wars
With each speech Trump’s truce total soars
His confused amount
And White House account
Are summed-up trysts with Epstein's whores
>> true love, please.
[ERROR]unable to retrieve file 'true'
>> fine, then just love.
[ERROR]file 'love' can’t exist without 'true'
>> …just happiness, then.
[ERROR]requires connection to server 'live'
Contritions Wombe
Calling for what I am not
A leader
I cannot
A last means
A final
Evaluation
Of your limitations
I will possibly describe
Your amazement atop a well
Panic and plague
Where do spell
To no breach
Will the mind respond
A city orchestrated
Behind in its eyes
Comment of its betrayal
It's fail in sails
Get the life in doors from them
Yet they buy for their owning and confining of grace goes why
A texted Tanka
we h#ve mucx to lay
textins is two limited
it is balter if
we p2e pen to pazer and
cor4espmd with0ut er7ors
we have much to say
texting is too limited
it is better if
we put pen to paper and
correspond without errors
The surest way to get to the good stuff in life,
Is by trial and error,
And not standing too long in front of a mirror.
The surest way to get to the bad stuff in life,
Is not to give time to trial and error,
And standing too long in front of a mirror.
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.