Amethyst beauty cheerful dainty elegant frilly girl
Holy intelligent joyful kind loving mahogany nice onyx plats quick replying simply truthful understanding virtuous with xenial youthful zest
lovely long hair flips
sexy walk with switching hips
bright red painted lips
emerald round eyes
accepting drinks at the bar
like a star call girl
The first 'real' poem I wrote
shook me to the core.
I say I wrote it but really
I think I was channelling it.
I was a fifteen year-old girl
and I wrote a poem about a soldier.
I penned it in quatrains and in rhyme;
it almost had an Irish accent.
To this day I swear there was something
definitely surreal about Dreams' Battles
AP: 2nd place 2023
Please recall Louise is fictional.
She cannot walk in the park with a dog,
or do somersaults.
She won't be found at Bartholomew Library
reciting poetry.
She is and always will be fictional,
so cannot be so viewed.
Again, I stress she's fictional, completely, completely, for all time,
for already you imagine her with dog
that won't stop barking,
admire her cleverness in Bartholomew's gymnastic class,
or hear her quiet voice
giving poetry something it hasn't had for years.
4/5/2023
I truly must have filled a form,
But when we both agreed to warm;
The tenacity of feelings like storm,
To see how well I can perform.
Remember, I acted according to the norm
And I didn't mistakenly cum*...
Definitely, nothing plus nothing can't sum,
Yet you claim something is growing to transform:
Into what life is thou of I, a reform.
How can that be to have really come?
By George P. Lumayag
https://georgelumayag.weebly.com/
Some young and old ones await the sunset,
and they take a series of shots of the subject.
A lady takes a series of pictures of sundown,
but she becomes the subject of the stolen photograph.
Still, they're waiting for the beautiful twilight,
when the sun hides below the horizon at that moment.
Same with a photographer who also hides some words
to protect the privacy of the stolen subject.
Her smile was fake
No matter how she hid it
Her eyes screamed “Help me.”
Feel free to comment!!!!!
My heart was once a pile of expired leftovers.
An overflowing trash can that stands in front of a suburban home
With flies of the young and old surviving off of the putrid remains.
And she was the dump truck that came to empty the can clean.
-The next week I slept in on trash day,
And now I am right back where I started.
-Bryce Stoskopf
A circumference
A point
A circle
A hula hoop
A girl
A poetry.
There is a girl named Whips
Whips is a gymnast with lots of rips
All over her hands
from the bar.
She eats soup all day
She collects cans from her soup
She has a whole bunch of cans
In her lockers.
She is bonkers
But she is a good gymnast.
By Aunika Alch
Age12
There was a naughty girl, Doris
and a naughty girl was she
Nothing would she do but...
Daydream about arts and poetry
Like a puzzle to be solved in my vision
Why was this so?
Brian Strand among others have a regular
contest to stimulate the pen and mind of me.
Reading other's works
Helps to pass the time
Emotions and ideas flow
until the thought becomes written upon paper
and filed away at poetry soup.com
There was a naughty girl Doris
and a very naughty girl was she
nothing would she do but surf poetry soup and write poems.
Encouraging other naughty/nice boys and girls
Like Colleen, Jared, Richard, Marty and yes Little Sara.
Take a poetry break-Carol, and all poetry soup friends
Don't do the dishes
Don't do the Laundry
Come on Dane Ann, Carolyn, Phyllis,
Sweetheart, Let's play
Don't do the vacuuming
Don't do the cooking
Take out, tonight!!
When we are naughty, go all the way!!
For Brian Strand's contest christmas parlour 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.