the grid from navel to jugular notch
collaborates with the crown in our head
aflame and aglow, on the world keeps watch
fully magnetised and by bliss beats led
radiates cool heat, inhibitions shed
a consciousness scan we do not question
yet this happenstance does deserve mention
We celebrate holidays,
Or we do not,
For personal reasons.
(That’s all that we’ve got.)
To some, it’s religion
That drives them to pray,
While others like following
Customs that they
Have observed since their childhoods.
For me, that’s the case
And certain traditions
I like to embrace.
To honor connections
With those in the past,
I’ll light special candles;
Tomorrow, I’ll fast.
The only true lesson
To me, on this eve,
Is it’s nobody’s business
What we each believe.
Unified Call- We speak their names with
Reverence, and the ancestors rise in
The unseen to witness.
The world reads them before it knows them,
But the obscurity answers; their capital is
Older than any bias.
They learn caution too early, discretion too
Young, yet the unseen strolls with them in
Every stride.
Harm pursues them without petition
But protection gathers like a second horizon,
Shifting the air, not today, not this one.
Their names hold history, optimism, and the
Right to grow old, and the ancestors say each
Name is an ancestry of brilliance.
When the world looks away, injustice transforms
Into bold, but the shadows rise; we do not look
Away.
Truth returns to them like a safeguard,
Justice throbs even when unheard, and the
Unseen closes the circle:
Their lives mattered before the world began, and they matter now, fully incessantly.
I wish I didn't love and I wish more
I wish you had never me or said hello
I wish you were still a stranger to me
I wish our love never started to grow
I wish all our mistakes didn't happen
I wish things had just been differently
I wish you weren't the one I dreamed of
I wish when my eyes closed you I didn't see
I wish you could find forgiveness
I wish your heart wasn't cold as ice
I wish I wasn't so stubborn and mean
I wish I could have just been nice
I wish you would come home to me
I wish you would just go away
I wish all this never would've happened
I wish I'm coming home you would say
A drop of the ocean, one with the whole,
rises to the top, where it joins a wave,
dancing in sunlight, first without a goal,
then becomes a cloud as its heart does crave.
One with the vast sky, heartbeats feel alone,
shapeless and formless though it’s self-aware,
choices it had made begins to bemoan,
so returns to earth as rain in despair.
Each dewdrop has its own story to tell,
following a pattern that is unique,
of skyward ascent and then how it fell,
affirming we’re that we set out to seek.
Identification with form erased ~
We frolic in the vibrant void amazed
instead of struggling we reflect
how we may maintain our trance state
but try as we might we cannot
since throb of bliss does not abate
so we remain poised in the void
tranquil stillness our ordained fate
whence with bilocation the norm
we’re both here and at heaven’s gate
My mistakes have taken a toll on me
In many aspects of my life
I no longer feel pretty without makeup on
Because i can see the secrets hidden under my skin
I no longer feel confident in revealing clothing
Because i know the insecurities lying underneath the remaining cloth
Mistakes are things you learn from
And I have learned plenty.
I have learned that i am not the person i think i am
Im a coward
I constantly hide my flaws while shaming other peoples
And i make myself into a different person so i can be liked,
Then make fun of those who are unique
Im a fool for ever thinking i was pretty
Because being pretty isn't just your face or your body
It's the thoughts and soul behind those things
The way you process a compliment, and how you respond
Or what you think when someone is different from you
These thoughts and actions show who you are, or who you are trying to be
And i have realized i have lost myself in this foreign body
This is not mine, I am a fake.
Better dead than living,
Better terminated than throbbing,
Better left than held,
Better abandoned than acquired.
Better understand than love,
Better pouncing than dancing,
Better challenged than agitated,
Better hungry than satiated.
Better feline than canine,
Better violence than romance,
Better cunning than running,
Better punched than bunched.
Better sorry than safe,
Better thrown than bowed,
Better disturbed than serene,
Better abused than adored.
Better soiled than vowed,
Better cuffed than chatted,
Better rough than soft,
Better fire than freeze.
Better statued than tattooed,
Better chaos than calm,
Better broken than forgotten,
Better strange than ordinary.
Better… always better.
silence
energised
by bliss beats
it is our being-ness
unadulterated and so pure
enlivening emptiness
wherein we rest
magnetised
peaceful
Home Sweet home was our most safe haven,
Only shelter when I was just a kid and minor.
Mom-Dad were there to bear each responsibility
Enjoyed with my siblings at every step of childhood.
Simple pleasures, simple disputes awoke in our home.
Wonderful sharing of sister of my heart to take care.
Excited days settled at night with worry-less sound sleep
Events occurred in sorrow or gay, but to assure,
Top secret of entire peace lay in our sweet home.
Home Sweet Home is now my holy sacred heaven.
On love and care I have erected my home as ideal one.
Mind gets real relief in each distress, dismay and agony
Enchanted days settle at night in perfect profound peace.
Om
Peace
I am as am
Luminous nothingness
Vibrant emptiness
Radiating bliss
Here now
DANCING BLIND IN THE MIDDLE OF THE DANCE FLOOR
Bare footed on old linoleum floor
Tapestry music engage my ears (I hear the distance)
I see not but I’m placement mid-center
Of a space placed vivid vibrations flairs (I feel the emptiness)
I slowly spin around, I move to the music
Even in the darkness I’ve rhythm (I smell the panoramic)
My naked feet hear and feels the beat sweet
I can see n mine spirit I dance with the light
(I taste the air, I’ve inhaled, I sense the people stare) {I DANCE}
As my naked feet, legs, tortoise whole body sprite
moves as lighting-bugs in the night
Centered in movement dance steps bright
ViBrAtiOnS feels my steps are not sight
Dancing Without Sight
9/16/26
For Dancing Blind Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Eve Roper
2026©
There’s a kind of power in my failure.
Like a bell that always rings inside me.
Not too loud, but at the same time,
its echo feels like a song teaching me
that failure is but a phase.
It makes the world unpredictable.
It rings when I fall,
as if it's a sign I will rise.
It rings when I cry.
Yet when I hold a pen and paper
and write my pain out,
it barely makes a sound ,
like a bell too shy to ring.
So, I let it ring in its own time,
like it always gives me a chance to be me.
Yet on those days it rang,
it showed me that I was here,
and made me turn failure into a song,
a melody that lingers, uninvited yet welcomed.
eerie emptiness
we float away
our vision distant
longing extinguished
from the world detached
ties disconnected
yet peace suffused
in this void-centric view
cloaked in aloneness
strangely intimate
then we are reeled in
to bliss drenched form
vibrant and aglow
in the borrowed light
loaned by presence
as gift of grace
which we imbibe
to rekindle dying ember
that refractions of love
radiate across space
as a tribute
to our creator
without further inquiring
about God’s divine plan
since our identity
as something separate
from the all that is
has been erased
in place of which we are
fullness in emptiness
emulsified in this urn
wherefrom emanates
the elixir of bliss
commingled with light
banishing darkness
chakras hitherto ignored now pulsate
all polarised nodes wish to merge with source
manner of change varies as does blink rate
all accomplished without the use of force
kundalini being our sole resource
that as subject and object become one
all we are aware of is bliss beat’s hum
How I Feel Categories
Definition | What is How I Feel in 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.