In the American wilds there are kings and
queens of the timberlands,
their pups born into a fraternity of royalty.
Crystal blue eyes shudder the dawn in
thick forests and open tundra.
Native American spirits in the elements
in all seasons,
in harmony with the wolves’ songs,
gently flowing eternally in the streams.
Oh, to run, run with their brethren of the
freedoms,
hunters and their prey churning up the
snow.
In the wilderness twilight they howl in
unison,
a woodland concert of the untamed neath
the ochre copper moon,
their breath exhaled in a frosty mist.
Whatever you do, please don’t kill my
wolves,
they are the sons and daughters of
nature’s magnificence.
So many have been felled and my heart
can’t bear hearing the roaring of the
rifles anymore,
Oh God, no!
Please don’t pierce their bodies,
their souls,
please, please don’t kill my wolves!
Two Crowns, One Autumn
Alexander’s sorrow pen wrote stories of love,
She came, conquered, and ruled both heart and throne above.
They met in spring when flowers burned bright red,
And promised vows where future rivers led.
Autumn breathed with wings across the yellow sky,
Its song a whisper of the leaves drifting by.
The Nile exhaled in amber, slow and warm,
Holding their names within its final calm.
No chains of Rome could break what they had grown,
No power of time could claim them as its own.
When separation’s poison filled the air with grief,
They chose one last breath instead of brief relief.
He fell on steel, she took the asp’s cold kiss,
Not defeated, but by love and will restored.
Autumn died with last breath in the arm of Nile,
Yet love remains, and makes the season smile.
Take a minute to breathe
Actually, just exhale
The rest will take care of itself.
All around, the world is showing you
How to simply let go.
With signs as subtle as which way the wind blows.
Or if you’d rather,
Hold on as tight as you possibly can
Eventually you too will become exhausted.
Pleasure or pain isn’t the point,
Since both are subjective,
And interchangeably desirable for some.
The point is finding there is really no point
No up or down
Only that space you’ve exhaled to.
(8/10/26)
I lifted my face up and looked into sky,
Reveling in its aquamarine shade.
Stellar fragments afloat in the immensity high.
Inhaled beauty and exhaled toxic fumes.
Nature with its variety, my eyes did invade.
Seemed a peacock in strut plumes.
—The Blade of Grass—
I sought no empyrean throne beyond the wheeling blue,
But found one adamantine dewdrop trembling in the grass.
It did not scintillate.
It beheld me.
Then every pinion became articulate flame;
The raven's augury, the blackbird's argent hymn,
Were borne upon one unoriginate Breath I could not name.
I watched the lion heave the primordial wind,
The lamb receive its inviolate ordinance.
Neither litigated Eternity.
Rain descended remembering firmament.
The brook relinquished its mountain,
Yet bore its genesis.
Then desolation entered.
No seraph sundered the stillness.
One mortal hand entered mine.
Its benignity outshone
The constellated treasury of heaven.
That night the firmament exhaled one eternal Breath.
The stars did not descend.
The earth ascended.
The adamantine dewdrop withdrew from the blade of grass.
Since then—
Wherever aught lives—
Or abides—
I have never again encountered a universe bereft of God.
when promises
aren't etched in stone,
they drift away with the breeze.
words hold no meaning,
even if regurgitated
a thousand times.
with their pinky fingers,
interlocked,
he promised
he's all hers from now on,
after being caught
dead to rights sneaking around
with his paramour,
but the world knew
he wouldn't stay true,
that his word
isn't as good as 24-carat gold.
yet again, he did sell her
a kingdom built on blatant lies...
abandoned her
on the battlefield, naked.
the betrayal, brutal, cold
and cuts like a sharpened blade.
against her better judgment,
she exhaled on his latest promise
with relaxed assurance
only to taste
stinging disappointment and regret.
she's been made a fool of
once again,
but that was enough.
he'll never change.
the erosion of trust,
a relationship coup de grace.
the bridge of redemption,
of forgive-and-forget
burned beyond repair.
She stepped lightly
Amid the golden reeds
Glowing, this nymph of
Riparian leisure --
Barefoot and scantily
Covered breasts, whose
Jutting pavilions twice
Blessed swayed and
Swelled as the marsh
Tried breathe, exhaled even
Deeper saturating its own boggy
Savors, fixated then
Upon her naked thighs
Exposed for the silk
Curtain had parted revealed
Luscious droplets clinging, slipping,
Slippery sliding my heart a slush
Of primitive desire --
When my mother took her final breath,
something inside me forgot how to breathe. She left this world, and I've never fully returned to it. The day her heart fell silent, mine began breaking — unendlessly, without pause. When her eyes closed for the last time, mine opened to a waking nightmare that I'm incapable of escaping from.
Living without her is not living — it is dying,
slowly, cruelly, breath-by-breath. She died once, but I die in fragments — every time I remember she's not coming back. To the world, only one soul vanished, but in losing her I lost the remaining threads between myself and living.
As she exhaled her last breath, I lost the
ability to catch mine. Her absence is not quiet — it is a scream stitched into every second, swelling louder the harder I try to turn away, until even a blasphemous silence rings so loud it becomes deafening. Though her body is gone, my soul fissured alongside hers, torn into a grief no time will ever mend.
I walk through this life hollowed. Haunted.
Not living; not dead. Just waiting for the moment I can finally follow her into the dark and come home.
(August 31st, 2025)
An ancient, desiccated
pharaoh awakened within
the subterranean labyrinth
of his limestone sepulcher,
Tattered, resin- soaked
bandages unfurled like
skeletal fingers from his
withered, emaciated frame.
A hollow, sarcophagus- born
shriek echoed through the
claustrophobic, dust- choked
corridors of the tomb.
Intruders trembled as the
reanimated monarch
exhaled a foul, millennial
breath of decay.
The curse of the scarab-
engraved scarification
manifested, binding the
tomb- raiders in paralyzed
terror.
His empty, shadowed
sockets burned with a
malevolent, incandescent
hunger for vengeance.
Grizzled, mummified hands
reached out to drag the
trespassers into the stygian
darkness.
The heavy stone sarcophagus
lid slammed shut, sealing their
horrific, suffocating fate.
Now, fresh blood seeped
through the ancient linen,
feeding the eternal, undead
king.
The labyrinth reclaimed its
silence, guarding the pharaoh's
newly fortified, immortal slumber.
There are promises about forevermore
That sadly get pushed aside.
Their reality is beyond our comprehension
So they often get denied.
Is it because human logic
Says a beginning must have an end?
A conclusion somehow comforts us.
A metaphoric friend.
We have only known life
As we see it now.
So the idea of no more troubles
Seems impossible somehow.
The promises of forevermore
Include no more hunger and thirst.
A humane and loving society
Where we all put others first.
They tell of peace and happiness
No more wars again on earth.
Every living form is treated
With the respect and dignity it's worth.
"He will swallow up death forever"
No more funerals to attend.
No more final breathes exhaled
By a family member or friend.
No more scary stories
About how our planet will die.
"The earth remains forever"
And will expose this careless lie!
In times of fear, sorrow and darkness,
It's very hard to see
How what's envisioned with eyes of faith
Will soon come to be.
But the promises of forevermore
Are trustworthy. Are true.
For they come from the most reliable source ~
The creator of me and you.
A Bloody Tale
a vampire bat in the weeping willow tree
hanging upside down created an impasse
a fat faced full moon highlighted it
its beady eyes focused on my warm neck
in hopes it could get a taste of my sweet blood
I needed to deliver the brown leather satchel
with the Irish curio—a stolen sample
of the Blarney Stone tucked neatly inside
my way blocked by this flying mammal
I needed to distract it
my back pack contained a rare beef dumpling
for a snack while on my way
I pulled it out—some blood dripping from
its cold center
I tossed it to the side of the trail
mr. bat took the bait
I exhaled a sigh of relief and
resumed my trek. As I left
I heard a chirping sound behind me
I turned and saw the bat waving its webbed wing
in gratitude. I had to pass this way homeward
I hoped he would remember me
I was sitting on the corner, stoned
When out of the blue, my dead aunt phoned
How could this be, she rests in peace
Right beside my loving niece
I answered the phone, and my auntie said
“I know you think that I am dead.”
“I’m alive”- my auntie moaned
Or- could it be that you’re just- “Stoned”
I stared at the screen, my mind in a twist,
Her name on the caller ID still exists.
I stammered and asked, “Is this some cruel joke?”
As I exhaled another thick cloud of sweet smoke.
She laughed out a cackle that shook my bare bones,
And said, “Check your pocket for misplaced headphones.”
I looked down and realized with a slow, hazy grin,
“It was just a podcast that I’d turned on again.”
After the sunset
I lie quietly beside you
feeling the warmth
of your body against my own,
mine beginning where yours ends,
masculinity to your soft contours.
After the sunset
I listen to the quiet contentedness
of your breathing; each breath
exhaled from slightly parted lips
upon which a few minutes before
endless passion radiated.
After the sunset
the fragrance of our love
lingers lightly in the air.
My body still tingles from the
hours that we shared
caught up in the magic of desire.
After the sunset
as peaceful fulfillment woos me
and I begin to drift away,
smiling, I move even closer to you
with the knowledge that
sunset will come again another day.
At dawn I breathed the fresh air,
a fragile hope, a whispered prayer;
the light rose slowly across the land
and grace kept finding me.
By noon the world pressed hard and wide,
yet still a calm stirred deep inside;
a strength I felt but could not see~
and grace kept finding me.
At dusk the sky turned ember-gold,
a place where weary truths unfold;
the day exhaled its certainty~
and grace kept finding me.
And when the night grew still and long,
my heart sang a soulful song;
in darkness, too, I came to see~
that grace kept finding me.
Freshest of dawn-walks
This by a sea.
Whilst on its air none but thee
Its lung's trace leaves:
Life; as first exhaled.
Spumy mists through.
As one cast up on anew
World's shore; least grieves.
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.