Septet II
Wind strips bark.
Rust stains the white skin.
Ghost gum breathes and a branch breaks
What broke has made room for coloured wings.
New leaves stir above the scar.
The trunk keeps breathing.
Green wings rise.
Septanelle
Bark strips leave white.
Winds rush past, branches bare.
White trunk reflects the fading evening light.
Birdsong fills air.
Rainbows come from out west.
Lorikeets find hollows to make a nest.
Green wings take flight.
Saraband
Aging branch crashes to the ground.
Eerie silence follows the sound.
A gaping hole can now be found.
Hollow in the tree can be seen.
Lorikeets arrive as a pair.
Hollow cradles a nest unseen.
Birdsong now echoes through the air.
TYPE FORMS
BLITZ
tight fits
good spits
quick bursts
same first
inking
linking
FREE VERSE
immerse
in verse
roaming
storming
MINICHU
perplex
context
twelve laps
recaps
reward
unfolds
DEESWHEAT
sounds neat
on beat
cranks awe
tanka
cinquain
enchained
triplet
strip set
FOOTLE
versed brand
by Strand
two-line
may rhyme
trochee
swift spree
witty
ditty
one foot
output
HAIKU
small views
soothe you
nature
treasure
YALTO
word rows
in tows
notice
mini list
statement
intent
adjoint
make point
SUZETTE PRIME
sublime
no rhyme
inject
prime set
real surd
numbered
LIMERICK
pun shtick
risk it
in time
punchline
TOO MANY WORDS
there’s herds
for nerds
new forms
brainstorms
don’t fuss
adjust
all’s fair
who cares
expand
like Strand
He gives back-turned witness
To those who've perceived
In clear forms of beastliness
A splendid display.
History's onlooker.
Mankind's one shame-faced!
Stands back, in time, from cheerer
Glorifies Death's play.
Dream forms spiral, though we are still,
tranquil in witness mode,
so in time ego sheds its will
and sings to God an ode.
Sans our thoughts, who are we,
save the Self, which we see,
luminous are carefree?
Thoughts go viral ~
Dream forms spiral
Why do people think they’re entitled
to judge and bring down the thunder
of harsh verdicts on their unsuspecting victims.
We confide in them, we trust them
until they stab us in the back
through the ribs and through the heart.
Drunk with make-believe power,
they’d rather whisper in corners
and gather hearsay and gossip.
They’re not interested in facts.
They’ll willingly exploit false accusations and assumptions.
regardless who gets hurt in the interim.
Like Thor they wield their lethal hammer,
wave it around like tongue-lashing’s a sport,
feeling all superior and mighty
with their vile sneers and poisoned arrows.
AP: Honorable Mention 2026
Pouring the verbose
into cracked moulds.
Pride teeters up close—
poets’ wisdom holds.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I’m like a teapot—short and stout—at dawn,
contentedly sleeping in the kitchen's first light.
By noon, I’m a question mark curled on your lawn,
punctuating the grass with snores.
Sometimes, I’m a baguette, crusty and long,
stretched across the couch in a sunbeam.
Other days, I’m a slipper with eyes that follow along
as you tiptoe past the doggie treat jar.
I have been a caterpillar, a comma,
a parenthesis nuzzling your ankle.
Occasionally, I was your boomerang, mama,
who returned to you with leaves in my fur.
But always, always, beneath my shifting silhouette,
I remain your loving Doxie, Fritz,
who sighs when you scratch my belly
even when I don’t have an itch.
the related memoir vignette can be read at: poetrysoup.com/short_stories/runt_of_the_litter_13668
Time is structured in forms
The future
The present
And the past
The past intrusions into the present
The present reserved for the future
And the future unfolding eroding the past and the present
Time has structured forms
Some forms of soup both hot and cold to exercise the stomach, there's quite a few
borscht, gazpacho, minestrone, mulligatawny, cock a leekie and there's a gumbo too
So many forms of poetry to exercise the mind,
ABC, Cape diem, Crown of Sonnets, Double Dactyl, Villanic and Verse,
Could it be that soup and poetry are somehow aligned ?
For all the years of consuming many different kinds of soup, a natural way made sense
This new found discovery of poetic form, yet come to grips
It's still in a metaphoric thinking paddock, divided by a fence
Learning sometimes feels like mind is travelling in a thick pea souper fog
A diversion, clearly now the time is ripe, on a different site will log
And yes there is alignment !! Found a literary group
Wondered why it took so long to discover Poetry Soup
Still Waters Run Deep
Still,
Eyes never sleep-
Tranquility hides the calm's breath,
Where peace hums low,wisdom is loud
Watch me.
When the lion sleeps
Dreams hunt-
In quiet grass,
The prey dares to wander,
Forgetting dawn will wake the king-
Too late.
Even the Ant Knows Hunger
Soft feet,
Carry the world,
No rest till the fest starts-
Tiny thinkers teaching the proud
To work.
Mother Tongue
Speak soft,
old river voice.
Words like stone in my mouth-
rolling,remembering,washing
me home.
A Broken Calabash Still Holds Rain
Old pots,
Patched with mercy,
Still pour water like mothers-
not perfect,
but still giving love
that lasts
If you want to take
A hold of your life
Take over your mind
It frees you from all forms of limitations.
If you wanna know your soul
Heal your heart
You can't live fully
Amidst traumas
Memories always, bring back memories.
If you want to shine bright
Be the light
Because light got no shadows
It brings no sorrow
To make you shallow
But swallows all darkness.
Bereft of attributes, Self is living light,
which is our true being, shaped as God Himself,
in a realm outside space-time, where we shine bright
and so recognising this as our true Self,
we weave our way through life in drunken delight,
knowing what’s impulsed will unfold by itself.
God dwells in the Self and Self dwells in the heart,
which is why illumined living is an art.
SENIOR MOMENTS. FOOTLE
Here I am at a very great old age with same chat
for these days I can only recall old tales, off pat
Toothless now and decayed so no, long kiss
for that's certainly something best, to miss
Reading with a magnifying glass in , large print
with very strong glasses for close-up, or squint
In my chair most afternoons having, no sap
having to pace myself or without doubt , need nap
Allusions lead to absence?
Believe it, sir and ma'am.
Hold the door? Then get ye hence?
Why the constant slam?
Truth be told, the terror tells.
Tollbooth of the dead.
Nebula, will-o-the-wells.
Stray to look ahead...
Young the yellow yearling?
It's right there in his name.
Hornets, honeybees. Same sting?
Stake it on thy claim.
Frame of usual story?
O kindness, are you real?
Would if could, morning glory?
Flicker as ye feel!
Unity the ugly damn?
Indeed. That's been true.
Summertime, the crowds thin. Ham?
Blow away the blue.
Hated is the world outside!
Woe betide, landslide.
Pace of poet, poison plied.
How the cockerels chide...
writing you these words
to love you
in the form of prose
as I’ve loved you by my fingertips
and in the beating
mechanism of my soul,
the being and un-being of it all
so let me touch you still,
memories new and far
and soon to be,
the day and night we called
over and over
through the fear and pain I discovered
I didn’t have to be strong
all the time and I just
needed you
my only real fear now
is being kept from you
when you need me, my only want
is your arms to sink into
do you know,
can you feel
the joy I feel when you
lie down and pull me in? it’s
a feeing like i’ve had it all
and so nothing can really be taken,
like loving you when we’re old
would be easy - for us,
and i could die smiling
right here in those moments,
over there in those words
when you call me your angel
in the form of a whisper
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.