clement weather shift
with rainbow tinted festoons
dried leaves' canned laughter
men with harvest, birds in tours
time for thanksgiving gala!
Place: 2 nd
Written: May 2nd 2026, for contest sponsored by Brian Strand
********************
I could trace you
through the tremor of your hesitations,
read the rippled residues of moments
that tried to make you smaller.
I could catalogue the crenellations
carved by old ache,
the tensile tenderness you carry
like a secret you never meant to keep.
But beauty is not a ledger—
It is a lucent lilt,
a soft antiphon rising
even when you feel moribund inside.
It is the way your presence
festoons a room with quiet gravity,
how your stillness holds
a vernal vow of becoming.
And though I can do nothing
about the ache that shadows you,
I can witness you—
unabated, unwavering—
and be undone
by the simple, staggering truth
that your beauty
does not ask to be seen
but still
shines.
Written: November 3rd, 2025, for contest sponsored by: Mystic Rose Rose
************
winter roses stand
beauty is not warmth, but will~
to grow in quiet
snow burdens petals
not enough to break the stem~
just enough to coach
wind omits beauty
the rose still remembers, though~
how red riddles white
roots in ground frozen
whisper to the sleepy buds~
"pain is not the end."
sunlight, slim as thread
festoons the thorn with gold lace~
a crown for those brave
rose has no accent
its quiet song is louder~
than a thousand springs
A hospitable host for the poets all over
Decorated with the festoons of poems
Disseminating the aroma of knowledge
With eye-feasting and insightful portraits
Serene and sweet music of audio clippings
Ragas of divergent genres with positive vibes
Free from the constraints of domestic walls
Cognizance of rich inputs with impartial judgements
Supportive dais for classic and novice poets
Sharing of different beliefs and traditions
A storehouse of passions and emotions
Bringing myriad thoughts across the world together
A lovely platform that has accommodated me
Poetry Soup – A new world of linguaphiles!
Place : 2nd
On a bright morning I was greeted warm
By a host of flowers of the self same hue
Smiling disarmingly from an orchid wild
With their white petals washed in dew
Amid the vernal green, they shone radiant
Like scattered stars bursting the seams of the sky
Airily they poised on their delicate stems
Waving at me from their stations high
Scattered here n’ there, not in neat array
They verily had an unusual charm.
Chanting in chorus, songs of lilting tunes,
They put my weary heart into a state of calm.
Had no idea from where they had come
Never had I seen the plant in bud before
They appeared abrupt as under a magic spell
I could count not one but a hundred more
Like festoons hung down from the turquoise sky,
They dangled down, bathed in sun’s early rays.
As they stood nodding at every gust of wind,
I stayed nonplussed admiring their simple grace.
The earth elated with rain
Dry land gets back life again
Breaking coats, seeds plan to sprout
From nooks, gnats try to come out
New shoots sway as green festoons
Birds fly like rich hued balloons
The earth elated with rain
A BRIAN STRAND you choose Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
Date: 18-08-2021.
Placed: 1st
Night roses dipped in purkinje, tendencies of blue
lost inside this dream I urge the winds to carry me
onto the hammocks of the night where antic roses lie,
moonlit soaked and mulched aside a big blue moon ;
Festoons of flowers strung across the midnight sky
scented florette boutonnieres of Saints and Gods
Angel wraps and gauzy shawls caressing softly stars
lost in a shimmer high above the sea , I am nigh
In exploration I am closing in, onto sweet allay
loosening the strings of yearn for my turtle dove
here in home sweet heaven, timeless as a rune
soaked in purkinje, eternally making room.
burgeons’ aroma
myriad hues of festoons
mother earth’s birthday
Spring Haiku - Traditional Form Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Tania Kitchin
Syllable count : PS
Date: 29-03-2021
Placed: 5th
Black balloons on the gate,
The sky so dark and cloudy.
Dad hadn’t wanted us out late,
But we begged quite loudly.
“Trick or treat,” we spouted,
The words just an expression,
We had never doubted,
It wasn’t a real question.
A door with cobweb festoons,
The man and woman are scary;
They wear skeletal costumes,
And scruffy white wigs so hairy.
“Trick or treat,” we spouted,
The words an easy expression,
We had never doubted,
It wasn’t a real question.
“Trick!” the answer is a shock.
They chase to the cemetery,
We try hide 'hind some rock;
Crouching low and all wary.
“Trick or treat,” we spouted,
The words were an expression,
We had never doubted,
It wasn’t a real question.
Thunder cracks behind our backs,
Neighbourhood dogs go howl.
“I wanna home,” my sister hacks.
“Shush now,” I gruffly scowl.
“Trick or treat,” we spouted,
The words only an expression,
We had never doubted,
It wasn’t a real question.
“Hey,” Dad was tall and adult,
Shining torch beam like a sword,
Chasing away creatures occult,
Making our fears shadows ignored.
FESTOONS
A day of festivity in fresh air
Festoons forming an entry pair
Gorgeous drapes of silky velour
Incense having their share
Festoons in the doldrums
As one is one less than twelve
As one is one more than eleven,
As one is one more than twelve,
All were not in a row.
Flowers bloomed and withered; Seasons fell and flew,
Sun rise and set; Dates turned,
Days formed months, months formed years.
Festoons in linear pair they were all in a row
Being 11 – 12 – 13
Their dreams in day fact
Festoons in a variety show
Flimsy tango and merry samba
I awoke this morning to a landscape in black
and white, a stark mixture of shadow and light.
A visual cacophony, yet somehow harmonious-
a paradox.
Feathery frost festoons the trees, now
standing gaunt and bare, appearing like
black lace against a background of snow.
Absence of color, painted upon an easel-
the epitome of all colors in one.
Disturbing contrasts- black on white,
shadow and light, emptiness- fullness.
The morning sun reflecting from the scene
burned the image onto the retina of each eye.
Turning my gaze away from the window
and back to the dimness of the room,
the image lingered but was reversed,
now black was white and white was black
When night casts shadows on the ground
The robin, distant, croons
Avian tones, enthralled by dreams
While stars glaze like festoons.
Ringlets of clouds, like puffs on flight
The silhouette of trees,
Nocturnal sighs and murmurings
Are caught up in the breeze.
Then, the new moon appears above
Her white face shyly peeps,
Light breaks so softly, glows the wings
As nest of duskfall sleeps.
Yet birdland rustles through the leaves
Jays trill on bush and thorn;
Where cardinal's imprints pass
Across the dappled lawn.
Soon these plumed wonders of the dark
Close down for daytime's rest,
To gather strength for next eve's rites
Unfolding at their best.
For The Birds Contest
Sponsor: Anthony Slausen
11/2/2015
The season’s fest imbues a bliss
As the grove blooms in morning’s kiss;
Where dainty festoons are aglow
Through springtime’s reign, young couples flow
Along bright paths, they reminisce.
The wind blows with scent of flowers
A lyre's music thrilling the hours
When gents kindle bold courtship's fire,
And lilies flaunt their gold attire
To charm pairs dancing in wonder.
Sweet talk and laughter fill the air
Oh gaiety rises everywhere,
Heady as tulips and wreaths unfurl
While ladies tiptoe like bough's curl;
On the first day of May’s affair.
Dusk slowly wafts to end the sighs
From misty lanes, dewdrops arise;
Hands on petals begin to rest
Enshrining time’s grace at its behest,
Till morrow comes for a new surprise!
as turf wars go
here
the weapons concealed
before agendas revealed
and courtyard orders sealed
inside wetzel gooey goodness
grand central its not
maybe from the outside
but inside the buzz is low
the reverb high
lingering as smoke choking
on its own asthma
void of cache
or any semblance
of the character
chiseled into posts,
ceiling festoons
and the ethnic parades
chanting in uniform grunts,
silence and glares
required vitals from
their lost or stolen IDs
it isnt Union Station for nothing
a primal yack, spit and grin
flowing from the cakes of
baked commuters
forsaked souls
and a neighborhood watch
that drools in adoration
point a to point b (or c)
never had an intermission like this
then again
here
every director is the drama
they wish they could
coddle into love.
(10/30/13)
Clinging to sunny Bognors regal
skirts
At his Majesties most royal verges
The readied hand thrusts upon the
lever,
And, shuddering, She forward lurches.
Clanking ominously over diesel fueled
growls,
Expediency, they said, was driven
to ignore:
The raised up objections and anguished
frowns,
And track them under tracked-over
ground.
For by unanimous vote they did smugly
decide,
Albeit tales of backhanders hotly denied,
That poor clymping Parish could no longer
abide
The daily through fare of the popular ride.
So when you next travel upon the new
Bypass
Think of the local residents you no longer
harass;
Dwell on the advantages you formerly
decried,
Whilst ripping through the greenbelt
to the jolly seaside.
Think of their tearooms, and the little
stone bridge,
Think of the old fort just beyond the sharp
ridge;
Think of their gift shops decked out with
festoons,
With bright little trinkets, plates and silver
spoons.
For over and beyond the ancient on-looking
hills
Creeps an old warming wind that carefully
steals:
To gently gather up the wretched mechanical
sounds -
And bear them away above the pale, distant
Downs!
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.