offstage reflection
ideally astounding
simultaneously
brainwash outwards
censurable stairway
impracticable undress
(Weekly Magnetic Poetry Challenge • September 14–20, 2026)
I'm just living a life of an one-eyed AuDHD dude,
Always repeating the cycle every single day
As folks think I'm acting like a robot,
And always having an undisciplined heart.
They say it's not always seen from the outside,
With history and video games is all I think of
Yet they see me as a young Sheldon,
Thinking being smart is a big blessing.
But I still look like a nerd
As if they see me as a nobody,
I'm still a spud in my eyes
As I'm too different for anything.
Eric's on the road again, another show just around the bend,
Guitar in hand, and his aviators on to avoid the glare of those stage lights in his eyes
(they're so blinding otherwise)
He'll be singing his heart out from somewhere tonight
and he loves it when he gets people singing his songs,
he always does his best to greet them with a smile,
they can chill with him like friends and family
for a while
Whether their lives are going great or wrong outside the walls of that concert hall
By: J.N.R Dutton
You seem to believe in me.
You seem to love me.
You seem to trust me.
I want to see,
in your space and time,
if you'll let me.
I want to be with you,
if you'll take me.
September 2026
written before September 17th - exact date uncertain
They say it is futile to chase the chimera.
That the more you seek it,
the more you feel
you are losing yourself along with it.
Do not listen to them! ...
For this very page you hold
tells you that you have found it!
It is pointless to read it;
you will not understand!
What matters is that now, you too
carry somber signals!
These signals bring you face to face with it.
It matters not whether you contend with it;
you will understand!
Lover, Lover
The nighttime sings our names
Ballads of the figurative Juliet
Radios hiss hearts spilled the shadows hide naked ambition stilled
Neglected emotional hills wafts through valleys of past lives
Karmic backlogs review their closing percentages
Futures flood the floors hold the line between fate and tears
Shadow people alone in the twilight
Illuminated letters, walls woed to sleep
Dreams from the shoreline as phantom vessels waltz on the silver linings
Postures of stable footing, top of the line, kings and queens of value
Thumbs circle the knuckles, bone kisses bone, the familiar taste of home
Haunted hems lines explored in tribal pursuits
Please keep me waiting
The specter of tender frames evaporates
Morning ghosts caress the memory in travel
Neckties versus deadlines
Power brokered, breath that betrays the dream
Folded napkins
Cocktail napkin epitaphs
Check please
Some problems
Cannot be solved with money
Do not have a clear cause
Do not hide behind words
Some problems
Appear out of nowhere
They live right where we do
Like furniture or crockery
On the table or in the sideboard
Or like the view from the window
On a clear day, or at dawn
When winter sets in
Summer days will be frozen
In the photo archive of years gone by
Memories will flood back
And there are no problems
Some problems, fortunately
Disappear of their own accord
Without anyone’s involvement
Like snowflakes melting in the air.
The ocean breeze never shuts up.
Currents, rough currents.
Washing up on that horrible shore when there’s better places.
This beach ball.
It’s like my disability.
Gets messy from sand, and tapped lightly into the air.
Except, such a beach ball gets put away eventually.
Deflated.
Defeated from being a beach ball at the end of the day.
The ocean breeze is sandy failure.
Whooshing sounds of people splashing.
My disability.
Gets passed around like a little shovel used for sandcastles.
Gets left behind on the shore as the shore shifts.
The breeze never stops.
The shoreline is changing.
I’m proud of the tangled seaweed.
That feels like something.
Free speech for me but not for thee
Is the Brave New World
Version of the 1st Amendment
Careful what you wish
It’s what you’ll vote for
And what you’ll get.
(9/17/26)
I hate the way you make my heart skip a beat each time you smile.
I hate that blue twinkle in your eye when you're about to speak.
I hate how my skin tingles when you gently stroke my hand.
I hate the way you rush to greet me because you say you missed me so.
I hate that music in your voice each time you're saying something sweet.
I hate the slight curl in your lips when you're about to say you love me.
I hate the way you call me sweetheart as the moon's about to rise.
I hate how natural it is for your arms to wrap around my shoulders.
I hate how calmness falls upon us when words are nowhere to be found.
But most of all, I hate the way you make it hard for me not to love you back.
There was a time the world was mine
a world of heroes and battles won
a windowpane with mother’s smile
a cardboard sled on a downhill slide
February wept with me a friend
a cuddly furry blue-eyed cat
mother said take three breaths
smile and call your friends
Grandma I loved I lost at ten
then my friend to an accident
it left a scar within my chest
memory unearths then covers back
And if I lose what I have left
I'll let my sorrow out in breaths
with mother's words reminiscing dad's
God sees and provides he said.
The eyes are the gateway to the soul
But hers was a hell I never expected
A tragedy so deep, I couldn't help but fall
A cut so deep, I couldn't pull the knife
A love story so tragic, it became bestseller
But I still couldn't stay away
I got so entranced that her name was synonymous with mine
I couldn't help but stay.
Skipping stones along a crumbling ground
How does it work with no one around?
If there is no one to read
What do I write for?
If there is no one writing
What do I read?
Ambition against the machine
Flesh gives to the metal
A pen’s work is easily destroyed
The cloud is forever
Art is human
Art is mine
But wherefore art thou reader?
When mine art is displayed?
I see my love, drawing near
He's carrying two drinks
Suspicion begins ascent
He perceives, and speaks
"I brought your favorite drink"
"I don't like chocolate"
"Oh, my sweet, this isn't chocolate...it's MOCHA
.....and this MOCHA is from Columbia"
This unexpected JOY bursts forth
Like a fairy being birthed out of a flower
"You see, I would cross the Ocean just to bring
You MOCHA from Columbia"
...refreshment for a weary soul
Written by Trudy Schrader on 09-17-2026
a man of towering stature,
mercurial temperament
well-known, his avarice
for absolute power,
a dreadful reputation
for intimidating underlings
in brutal fashion,
unsits the current king,
takes control
of the kingdom.
there's not iron gate
he cannot get past
the strongest of towers,
he could tumble down
his favor cannot be won
by a silver coin.
who has the the courage
to challenge his authority?
he mutes the loudest,
makes whispers
out of their screams,
he fearlessly
takes on giants
he puts away crowns
too heavy for his head
yet, his shadow fills
any room he walks into,
it makes
the proudest bow low,
still, he can never touch
anyone's light,
or steal the love
foreign to him
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.