SHES A RIVER
Her life is like that of a river,
persistent and unpredictable.
She carved her life in the California mountain peeks
following the creeks,
creating her own current at just fifteen—
forge on
she dammed fears and tears that tore at her spirit
childish emotions raged inside
Forge on
once she would fall
many came to see the wonder of it all
but eventually a comfortable place called home.
was the place she felt most alone
forge on
All that trapped her today would eventually be torn away
resurfacing through the cracks of where she had been,
forge on
She smiled glistening to see the sun, her old friend
to be united with something so bright and warm again
then fog crept in to elude her
and the sun crept out to remind her
Forge on
And at the fork of her life’s journey,
a paradise awaits—
one worthy of envy.
Forge on
When the soul enters
The blood bought, purchased land
Thorns, thistles, and snakes
Are present in what it can't understand
The master gardener
Sends Grace to endure
Walking alongside the soul
As hands work out the cure
Others begin to gather
Some to hinder, some to aid
Grace helps the soul
Hang and lock the gate
The gate is grown in the Garden
Where boundaries forge desire
The Spirit of LOVE is explored
As WORD applies the fire
This is no ordinary structure
Made by human hands
Grace grows all the structures
Until the soul is mature enough to expand
...territory
Written by Trudy Schrader on 09-21-2026
The summer sun has had its peak
The days draw quicker to their close.
So when the light grows quieter,
It's settling in to sweet repose.
Humans and nature follow suit
As energy starts to wane.
We go into hibernation mode
While we shelter from the rain.
When the light grows quieter
Everything grows calm.
Until you've found you've overslept
As light no longer beats your alarm.
Some feel the melancholy of less light.
Their spirits start to dull.
However, the laws of nature show
That light too needs its lull.
Like a friend, the light will show
Even if for less.
All seasons round, the light will shine
To comfort and to bless.
A little hand tugs gently at my
sleeve,
And wide eyes ask the
question of the heart.
"Which one of us do you love
most of all?"
As if my deepest feelings
split apart.
I kneel down low to meet
your worried gaze,
And hold you close against
my steady chest.
Love is not pizza sliced upon
a plate,
Where one big piece leaves
less for all the rest.
When you were born, my
spirit did not divide,
It grew much larger, opening
up wide.
I love you fully, completely,
and whole,
And love your sibling just the
same inside.
The nose stretches long—
at last it catches a whiff
of the stink it makes.
A strawberry is bright and
red,
It grows inside a garden bed,
And is a yummy snack
instead.
moon grows her own thistles in ditches of Mur
they are sharp and prickly, but look lovely to her
Along beside them grows Queen Anne’s lace pure
Moon smiles at her babies, where magic can occur
moon magic is something the ethereal eagerly finds
mystical beings live amongst these thistles, all kinds
brownies, elves, gremlins, faeries and tiny imps
if people try to walk barefoot here, they leave with limps
The ditches are for my thistles and magic, thinks the moon
Feeling no empathy for the humans who will not return soon.
Living in the past
wondering if it lasts
How long mem’ries endure
not forever to be sure
The road behind grows short
that in front, an escort
to ashes moribund
that smolder in the gut
As the darkness grows
It grows the leaves,
Up the tree in rows...
The wind, it helps, it weaves
Imagine the people's eyes
When the first thing they see,
In the morning, after winter dies
The new green leaves that be!
May we be blessed to understand
when it comes to love…
the laws of mathematics and physics
are not black and white…but gray…
for how else can our love grow stronger in our hearts…
the more we give it away
You thought the grass was greener on the other side..
So you walked away certain, with ego as guide.
No glance at the roots you had chosen to leave..
Just faith in illusion you wanted to believe.
From distance it shimmered, untouched and refined..
A promise of better you built in your mind.
But truth has a way of removing the gloss..
Of showing the weight of a self-chosen loss.
The ground there was hollow, the colour untrue..
No depth in the soil, nothing real to hold to.
What looked like abundance was surface at best..
A lesson disguised in the form of a test.
And now you return, not with words loud and wide..
But quieter steps… as you swallow your pride.
No victory speech, no defence left to frame..
Just silence that echoes the cost of that claim.
Because greener is often a trick of the view..
A story we tell when we’re chasing the new.
And sometimes the truth, when the illusion has died..
Is knowing what mattered… was right by your side.
Today is a brittle passage of tumbler,
Tumbler that glares like optimism in unsteady fingers,
Fingers that grip love like a hot torch,
Torch whose blaze cracks into smoke.
Smoke is an undertone of extinct promises,
Promises wandering like ruins in the squall,
Squall that flings hearts like collapsed greeneries,
Greeneries no map for tomorrow.
Tomorrow is a wrapped and inaudible volume,
Volume whose folios leather in shaded ink,
Ink that engraves destiny like an invisible sculptor,
Sculptor influencing today.
Such is life when it changes,
Changes that bring hurdles,
Hurdles making us remain uncertain,
Uncertain of what tomorrow really means.
Poem by N. Mugisho
all
life
changes
eternal forms
human life included
atomic matter swirls in consciousness to create
choosing guides, soul mates, curriculums, paths based upon lessons learnt, to be learnt :
wisdom grows
death !
time
arrives
spirit leaves
guides draw near, cortège
aiding transition process
Source gifted glow life which cannot end
before one’s time
exit vessel, welcomed by loved ones and ancestors into Spirit : wisdom grew
~~~~~~|||~~
Well, she boiled up the water
in a construction worker’s can now:
seems she forgot all about the library
that she told her old man now:
and with the kettle boiling,
she’ll serve up some cups of Jiguan now -
and she’ll have fun, fun, fun
till her daddy takes the teapot away.
Went to a dance
looking for romance:
saw Barbara Ann,
but I left with JD Vance.
My buddies and me
are getting real well-known:
Zelensky met us
and he sold us a drone.
We came in on the Sloop John B,
Mbappe and me:
Around Nassau Town we did roam.
The beer was like pee:
I caught an STD:
I feel so broke up,
I wanna go home.
She’s giving me good vibrations
with quality lubrication.
I think they’re taking a notion
in Californ – eye – ay
to throw themselves in the ocean
before election day.
The options are gruesome,
as you’ll acknowledge when
it’s bushy-bushy-bon Newsom
or Orange Trump again.
Grows the night when breath lays quietly
On obscure places fluid as winds,
Where clouds of rest become a hammock
Lulling my frayed veins with lemon tea.
Eve mellows allowing surrender
|ts hypnotic intoxication
The exchange of matter and being--
For across the distance ...grows the night.
~cl
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.