The emptiness
between
all thought
is a siren
Life
only gives birth
in cogent
reflection
Her wasteland
is dark
if she traps
you outside
Distilling
the distance
between
body and soul
Neither coming
nor going
existence
implodes
Neither coming
nor going
the schism
explodes
Neither coming
nor going
all motion
is dead
Neither coming
nor going
only madness
— remains
(Dreamsleep: September, 2026)
Truth Escapes
Each day shorter
than the day
before
Each word
sharper
and meaning more
Time compressing
the past
implodes
Truth
escaping
— life’s final throes
********
The Enemy Within
Everyone lives
with a cancer
deep inside of
them
Waiting
like a panther
striking
from within
If not today
tomorrow
on that
you can depend
Setting up
a sneak attack
malignancy
— portends
********
Within The Lines
Verse
is my mistress
Poetry
my love
Every line
my beating heart
Rhyme
sent from above
Feelings
wrapped in verbiage
Passion
leads the way
Stopping time
within the lines
Couplets
— on display
********
Words Rebirth
The leading edge
of prescience
A doorway to
beyond
Walking through
the past adieu
As words rebirth
— in song
(The New Room: June, 2026)
It’s endless.
The words pour out of bodyless lips; honey oozing onto my burning, sheathed wounds.
Am I what they tell me I am?
The question expands through my membranes, inflating my insides until I detonate with the black of their degradation.
The sugarcoated insults hang in the air.
The sweetness intoxicates my silence until the noise implodes, a deliberate provocation to the vacuum of my consciousness.
I don’t want to be what they tell me I am.
Though, the vast, eternal plea for empathy betrays the feigning, defiant arch of my brow.
The hair follicles echo my hallucination of faith.
I wish for anything but the death of my soul;
A lack of voice.
When big brother becomes too big
So large it has to put on a larger wig
When the inner cloister is as big as the outer
And detecting dissension becomes too easy to stir
That is when its helm begins to self-sabotage
The appeal of change is no longer a mirage
Its sheer weight disables its ability to pivot
Like Rome’s fall, emerges ignitable toxic glut
The regime self-implodes with the slightest match
Just a poem, not life.
Sea's waves roll in and out rhythmically
See a change, now its arrhythmically
Tsunami must be the blame or
Tommy's sleeping open-mouth snore
Amassed tangible wealth did he
A missed taking care of health, you see
Tsunami life lived now explodes
Tommy's health suddenly implodes
The light show erupts with a fulgent blast.
Fractals zooming out clash fast, aghast!
Ears pulsating frog-marching to be in tune,
with lights blinding, flashing a sonic boom.
It's a psychedelic reverie, a kaleidoscope of screams!
My head hurts, my brain implodes with dreams
spued up from explosions in surround-sound streams.
I want it to stop, but I love the extraordinary
Way I'm stretched, spaced-out, ablaze and glary.
Reflecting the chaos on my face and body
that's contorted to a gaudy, bawdy, disemboweled anti-body.
Falling Autumn leaves brashly wave goodbye to Summer
And strew the pathways with emeralds, rubies, and gold.
Radiant beauty engages the land in mummer
Encouraging Summer to relent and let loose its hold.
Watching with glum expression and immodest dress,
Eventually losing the tug-of-war with the chill cold.
Life and death become the drum to which She will bend
Leaving the breathless Wind time to nimbly mend.
Tomorrow She moves forward
Onward from time borrowed.
Sulking away with dried diamonds
Until Autumn’s auric sky explodes
Mindfully exposing Her horizons.
Memory of Summer implodes.
Efficacious efforts of Her victory,
Reign of Autumn’s golden glory.
We all bathe here in the leaking fluid of the school's belly,
unconcerned by the world, because as far as we're concerned,
the only thing that matters are the results for a test.
Art is dying
because we are forced to hinder our creativity.
All we are left with when the seven hours are up
are impressions of our former selves.
Works of art that this world can change and indoctrinate.
Life implodes in the palm of my hand
because nothing is essential
or consequential
when you imprison it in a grade book.
I miss the days
when word and pictures would flow forth
and my mind was free to rest
instead of worrying when the day may come
that I would need to put the lock-down drills into practice.
When memory implodes
upon itself
All we have left
— is Vodka
(Dreamsleep: June, 2024)
. visual
.
. prejudice
..
.
. tension .
.
. unambiguous
.
.emnity
.
.
. in transition
featured
.by
.
a. strange
utopia
..implodes
.
.
. ...... unappreciated
. .. circulated
.
.sensitively
discerned
.
.
. as light&space
.
disolve
in
atmospherics
Get help with thought patterns all new
From the social worker guru
Talia Green's expertise
Helps seekers find peace
And implodes thinking that's cuckoo
I wake dawn!
Dreaming of colors,
that lull me to sleep.
Seeing tears when it rains,
and rainbow appears crestfallen.
listening to the silent chirping of birds,
creating an oblivious lullaby.
Slowly, my heart implodes,
bringing drought on the throat
and an oasis on the pillow.
The rain becomes ice,
making me crave every night
to wake dawn!
"The Liberation"
When your home
is torn out from underneath you,
like a rug or a tablecloth,
nothing of value is left standing
on the surface, except silence.
life implodes for a while,
you’d think the vessel empty.
however, eventually,
what burns inside
is enough to fuel
an atomic missile;
you think better of that
and turn your efforts towards
other higher-level new worlds
and your escape mission.
a bid for life at all costs,
you take survival
and run with it,
igniting the benefits
of universal Love,
blasting off
from the nucleus
with the courageous
winged warriors
locked in, seated;
from the front
you turn the
ignition key,
squadron leading
The Liberation
platforms
like it's
some kind of baptism
by fire,
like it's
some kind of rebirth,
like it's
some kind of suicide mission
you smile, and
settle for,
Thanks Giving Season.
mission accomplished,
you've become ungrounded,
you're finally leaving
Earth
Women and children
first
(LadyLabyrinth/ 2022)
a pregnant pause - implodes from silent count-down ticks
Exactly what is it that I do?
Or for that matter
What difference do I make?
Will all of my failures collide?
Where will I hide my pride?
Who will be on my side?
Maybe I was built to break
Or maybe just a mistake
Sucked into a black hole
All those hopes and wishes
Everything at stake
All those struggles in my soul
Wondering if I will reach my goal
Trying to find out who I am
My identity just implodes
Like a broken dam
Rushing out of control!
18.8.22
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.