I am wandering the wilderness of life searching,
'tortured by the taste of touch' and desire,
I feel the heart and pulse of the forest,
the cadence, the rise and fall, the music of Wind
through the trees- he is whispering and calling my name,
as leaves and flower petals dance and twirl-
Oh, Wind, my love- I have hungered for your caress.
working on my poem
Soft stars stitch the sleeping sky.
Cold clouds carry the last light away.
Night names the dim, dark road.
Wild winds wake the slow, silver stream.
Bright birds, soft songs rise.
Small seeds stir; green grasses grow.
Warm winds whisper; brave buds bloom
The island dreams ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦
And ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ dance ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ sways upon ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ the ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ sea.
Here we ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦ wander ¦¦¦¦ with woven hands,
Murmuring ¦¦¦¦¦¦ lip to lip,
Along ¦¦¦ grass, along ¦¦¦ sands,
Murmuring ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ away ¦¦¦ the unquiet lands:
How ¦¦¦ alone ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦
A ¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ burning heart,
One with ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ wings ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦ heavy ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ dove
¦¦¦¦ moans ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ a hundred days:
How ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦¦ eve ¦¦¦ hushed the feathered ¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ blaze.
(Blackout of The Indian To His Love by William Butler Yeats)
Eyes ¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ follow ¦¦¦ butterflies,
And, ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ sweat ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ at the empty skies.
So ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ they fall ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦
And sting ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦
Till, ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ pain ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ gather
Out of ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ a cabbage-leaf.
"You ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦
¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦
Turn, ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ to ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦
Glorious butterflies ¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ dead." . . .
¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ beautiful, Earth ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦
So ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ where ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ is our death!
(Blackout of Butterflies by Rudyard Kipling)
I once saw you across the room
Scribbling letters into a journal like I am now
A hint of red hid underneath the surface
Your flannel, as usual, slightly oversized
droop past the beginning of the steel legs
but not to the ground
Music
I could not hear enticed your ears that day
I stared - unpolite I know - but words stumbled
and fell to the floor
failing to form a line of greeting
Were you well?
Was it madness that absorbed you into a world of your own?
Was it the letter filled with kisses from you lover -
which you opened days prior?
Or was it simply boredom to be alone in that room
The loneliness of trying to understand
and to be understood in return
May I be in there somewhere?
These questions made up my meals and dreams that day
and the day after
and now
To know that we were once alone in that room
But silence and loudness collide at once
The blue hills from the hazy horizon
undulated gently down the emerald gradient
of the rhythmic waves of the luring landscape
that carved the contours of the charming hamlet joyful
where my endearing home was once cradled,
nurturing me in the bounty of beguiling nature.
The fairy flotilla of the cotton clouds,
making seraphic celestial panorama, slid silently
upon the curved canvas of the sapphire sky,
where my childhood joy soared to great heights
with the colorful kites I loved to fly.
A gleaming stream of shining liquid pearls
flowed with flamboyant facade of silvery splendor,
bedecked our house with an ornate garland
of a lilting loop of embracing meander.
On its water I floated rainbow-tinged paper boats
that sailed with my mariner mind
to a distant dreamland of teenage fantasy.
The boats have disappeared with the ebb of time,
I live lonely with the reflections of childhood.
Before the sky claimed them, they were only a man and a woman
two mortals foolish enough to love
The gods took pity on no one.
He became the Red Man Sun,
a blazing titan shackled to the sky,
forced to rise each morning for a world
that feeds on his fire
but denies him freedom.
His heat once warmed her skin in the autumn wind
now it burns him alive from the inside,
She became the Blue harvest Moon,
cold with grief,
the long dark nights she brings light autumn is gone
her love lingers on
She chases him endlessly,
a breath too late
he rises and she falls
As the full blue harvest moon chases the autumn sun
awaiting an eclipse
A glimpse of their love that once was
the sky itself is their prison
Still, they reached for each other
forever almost touching,
forever denied.
The Red Man Sun.
The Blue harvest Moon.
.
Life a genesis, oh
A path toward vacancy
Trim down a modulation of lube apathy
Dirt arm's craving toward end! neither
The thorn was there , oh
Mesmerized by puppies tearing neck for the muddy popcorns
I myself giggle with lacrimal fallacy
Bone to bone, crate to crate
Waving with thermal fate
Rinsing heavily with northern gray, oh...
are you brainwashed ? or is she sociopath ghost !
(Weekly Magnetic Poetry Challenge • September 21–27, 2026)
Finding a place to belong
in childhood's lonely song,
up on grandma's swing,
I fly high and sing.
Sailing in the clouds of blue,
finding joy so true,
supported by a walnut tree,
I am finally free.
As my friendless soul escapes
by the tangerines and grapes,
I sail from earth to heaven,
a boy of only seven.
Birdy, please, a quill to pen,
for when I'm back on earth again.
Father, I have left school as the smartest.
Are you proud of me?
I have conquered the known world.
Father, are you proud of me?
I have created kingdoms and religions where all bow to your surname.
I ask, Father, are you proud of me?
Mother says she is proud of the person I have become.
Yet I look to the stars: Father, are you proud of me?
I have sacrificed so many days and nights, now they are just memories I forget.
Father, are you proud of me?
I'm on a two hour flight
Window seat
Middle seat vacant.
A no mans land between a woman,
unknown to me at the isle,
Her head absorbed in a paperback
Later she arises, goes to the toilet.
The book lies, its pages spread open,
On the vacant, warm seat.
Tempted by curiosity
My fingers nimbly
Flip it over to read the title,
Fifty Shades of Grey.
She returns, unaware
I'd discovered her,guilty pleasure.
Takes up where she'd left off,
Devouring Fifty Shades of Grey.
And not a word did we exchange
Neither on,take off
Nor during short spasms of,
Turbulent vibrations.
Nor on the bumpy landing.
However, all the while
I was tempted to ask,
' On a scale of one to ten,
how aroused have you been
For the duration of this pleasant flight?'
Close to this sleeping root, in its flesh of ancient earth,
something struggles silently to become light again, to be born anew from shadow.
And we remain, with our thoughts hanging like a rope torn from the sky,
wondering whether to overlook its gentleness, sweet and annihilating.
A tumbling of black waters follows, over the forehead of my memory,
a shaken clarity, like a lightning bolt that lies, falsifies, and forgets.
Then I barely recognize the electric grace of the men from long ago,
whom I had seen carrying their rusted shirts through the swamp that scorched them,
planting themselves in the ground with arms outstretched like a cross, a condor on each shoulder,
men who wanted to die beautifully, shattering their bones like ancient bells,
their eyes extinguished like burnt amber, silent as icons forgotten by prayer —
and I feel them smoldering within me, like a root that refuses to sleep.
And I walk out into this magical, phosphorescent rain, mystical and cold,
to untie the rope that binds me across centuries and dreams,
to roll myself back into the root from which all that I am has struggled to become again.
In the shadow of the colossal sphere, where ancient echoes sleep,
Vaeloria fades into the dark, a secret it must keep.
The watchers put their scopes away, the screens fade out to grey,
As morning calls the busy streets to meet another day.
No scholar marks the turning tide, no profit in the view,
For men forget the distant stars to chase what is brand new.
They walk through cities built of glass, untroubled, blind, and proud,
Unknowing that the selfsame veil is gathering like a cloud.
The rot that choked the Aethel Sea now crawls along their strand,
An unremembered resonance that slips across the land.
As silent as the giant orb that hid the world before,
The shadow comes to take their home, and lock them in its lore.
Through lenses cold and ground from mountain glass,
We watched the dying worlds of iron pass.
For generations, every spark we found
Was tethered to a bleeding, broken ground—
The sudden flash of silo doors undone,
The brief, horrific birthing of a sun,
Then ash that drifted like a heavy shroud
To lock a planet in a toxic cloud.
We turned our mirrors to the northern sky,
Expecting just another world to die,
To see Vaeloria’s final signature
Be etched in fire, black and premature.
We braced for the familiar, sudden glare
Of empires burning down their final air.
But what we found across the cosmic deep
Was not the final, static-riddled sleep.
The planet did not burn; it started glowing,
A quiet, silver respiration growing,
As if a willow made of starlight grew
And drank the poison till the sky turned blue.
No high radiation tore the night,
But pulses of a deep, organic light.
A lonely mind had stitched the broken spheres,
And washed away a century of fears.
We leaned into our sights, amazed to see
A world redeemed by a single tree.
Fantasy Categories
Definition | What is Fantasy in Poetry?
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.
Related Poetry Forms
reverie, nightmare, delusion, fancy, illusion, vision, mirage, invention, chimera, trip, rainbow, creativity, originality, bubble, flight, apparition, figment, fabrication, vagary, daydream, appearance, utopia, imaginativeness, hallucination, head trip, imagining, conceiving, fancying, objectifying, atlantis, envisioning, fairyland, externalizing, fantasia, air castle, flight of imagination, mind trip, fool's paradise,