Tiny tots have a way of knowing
When they are loved and adored
They need it when they are growing
To thrive they cannot be ignored.
It’s hard to keep secrets from a kid
Tiny tots have a way of knowing,
They are everything, seldom stupid
Sometimes they are mind-blowing.
Be careful what you are bestowing
They pick up ideas like sponges,
Tiny tots have a way of knowing
What they hear time never expunges.
Never underestimate their worth
They will reap what we are sowing
Even from the time of their birth,
Tiny tots have a way of knowing.
Written August 22, 2022
My life is full of tangled webs woven
from hues of grey trailing from a chasm.
Chaos dumps my heart a fractured token,
despair lurks to merge into phantasm.
I long to drift in endless bliss of sleep.
Solitude is a welcome refuge from pain.
It’s my safe shelter, warm as a cocoon,
expunges tarnished passions down the drain.
Fate turns capricious under a full moon,
everything I touch mere will-of-the-wisps.
The territory of my inner world
aspires to surge beyond all hues of grey
asks not to leave my rainbows dismantled,
from thoughts of self-made prisons not fall prey
but touch the sun’s zenith, bathe in its warmth.
@jjote 070421
July 29, 1890
Colored daubs and swatches
crave artist’s practiced hand.
Justice, nearly blind, yet watches—
unwrought art upon a stand.
Regard the brushes in a row—
the palettes and the sponges.
Genius maimed by status quo,
vain a hope that fate expunges.
Guttered myriad lifelong dreams—
in desperate ruination.
Fading now the piteous screams
of self-inflicted termination.
Time Passes
Abruptly then adoring praise—
contrived their sudden expertise.
Rude cabal who would appraise—
byzantine their guileful sleaze.
Each masterpiece a servant
of craven yearn and greed.
Bang the gavel, swift and fervent;
sate purveyors’ inveterate need.
Justice now is truly blind;
vanished those She would impute.
His final piece is left unsigned;
and undisclosed, for now She’s mute.
4th Place: I Love Rock and Roll
Inspired by Don McLean's song, Starry Starry Night
Although my mistress is my muse,
After a second, she has no use.
In this cup, she is immortal,
But with haste she drowns the portal.
In her ways, she makes words quake,
And with her in me, all worlds break.
They say she exists as a bane of men,
Though I say her body expunges my sin.
She and I, we’ll never sever,
To be with her is to live forever.
Alice in Wonder
Alice in wonder, landed a handful
From depths of a dryer eerily playful
Another sock missing, the dryer she’s dissing
A goblin within she fears is hissing
Disgusted by waste, calls Scotland Yard in haste
Thoughts of buying more socks, she repels with distaste
Sherlock investigates, Watson pontificates
No clues can either sleuth contemplate
Stepping through the door, she’s compelled to learn more
But finds herself falling; the dryer has no floor
Through the hole she plunges, a Mad Hatter lunges
And finally all doubt expunges
The rabbit hole clan, before her stands
Socks used as ear warmers looking so grand
So Alice climbs out, with a boost from a mouse
Vowing no more socks in her washer to douse
She’s barefoot now, folks, this is no joke
Sock expenditures had left her broke
* Entry for Paula's "Why do dryers eat our socks?"
amidst grass carpet
bunny nibbles flowered bulb
expunges nectar
Tribute To Children
Entry For
Carol Brown's Spring Contest
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.