thoughts are at rest and heart is quiescent
the wafting breeze gently plays on our skin
above our head shines the new moon crescent
hum of magnetism causes nodes to spin
ineffable peace pervades feeble form
a gentle osmotic penetration
bliss replete we are centred in this storm
poised in the vibrant void of cessation
a blob of bliss settles down on our crown
the grid from root to third eye is aflame
in the vast ocean of oneness we drown
give it any name but we’re not the same
radiance from third eye spills on forehead ~
we stand in the raw inhibitions shed
It stood alone potbound on a ledge -
wild and unapologetic.
This proud,presumptuous flower
would wince
at the very prospect of a pollen grain molest,
or of an admiring glance -
taking it whole root to tip.
In the raw of a nature manifest.
And so it remains
anti-social,uncaring,arrogant.
Forgetting how to share itself.
Certainly no flighty sort
dare pollinate this flower
or scoop its nectar gone sour.
For its active role in creation -
better dead!
Without tribute,too much alone -
it withers gradual in a heap.
Its only spouse - the soil
in bountiful riches once more,
absorbs the last dissolving leaf.
Inaction - no falsifying now!
Forgotten without trace,without love.
All that's left, lifetimes hence
Through their lost consequence.
Is God. Such grand defeats!
Unlike in warring heats
Acclaimed. Us, disappear.
And not but starred appear!
For Light itself foresaw
Those diamonds in the raw
Took back. Past seeking Him
From the cave entrance, dim;
To what, hill-high opens
Upon the same heavens.
Contours make a fool of your eyes,
shadows smile wearing a disguise.
Split-second metamorphosis,
too quick to ever reminisce.
That alabaster train floating,
the gal with her sweetheart doting.
What was it I thought I just saw?
Blink and miss nature in the raw.
Paint-drops on the world around us,
broken polish will cause a fuss.
Shivering when they juxtapose,
a mirage of silhouettes grows.
With the Earth’s rotating vision
blurry lines find their precision.
hovering in limbo
ideas strewn about
lacking sense or reason
images suspended in mid air
notions and impressions
floating and colliding
vague feelings in the raw
idly drifting meet their match
simmering a stance
before long ...
thoughts are forming notions
interpreting and framing
and a plan's laid out for action
AP: 3rd place 2025
Stirred.
Blurred.
Deferred.
A haze of thoughts.
In the raw.
Unprocessed unpolished.
Ethereal feral.
Impulses really.
I might drown.
A sea of ambiguity.
Random content
in my private universe.
At times, I want to scream and be heard.
But all in time that can’t be rushed ~
Excerpt from Collaboration with Kirk Tierney, based on my poem 'Writing Is How I Connect'/ Painting by Suzanne Van Bebber
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
Bird saw he was in the raw
~ composed ‘Turkey in the Straw’
Now and then things remind me.
Of a time, none could find me.
And the place where your eyes did.
In the raw candor of summer.
Where wine and secrets poured.
Out of your mouth.
Into a somnium reverb.
As the night pandered to our primitive urge.
Earth tones under moonlight.
Revealed native lips that held soft replies.
Laced with magic of their own.
No wonder flowers called them home.
i WAS WUNDOORING IF.....
i DON'T WANNA SOUND LIKE
A FOOL SAYING IT
NUT IF WE USED RAW LUMBER
AND MADE TWO BIG CRATES
AND SAT THE SMALLER CRATE INSIDE
THE LARGER ONE
AND SPRAYED SPRAYFOAM IN
THE AGGAPPED AREA
AND THAN PUT
A OVERLAPPING ROOF
UPON IT
AND POURED A CONCRETE
SLAB COULD WE USE IT AS OUR OUTSIDE
BEDROOM.
AND AN AREA TO TO STORE OUR
HICKORY NUT AND OLIVE OIL MIXTURE?
sINCERLY
eL bARROOM bASOONIST
WE PUT ROASTED HICORY NUTS
IN THE RAW BROWNSUGAR
MAN THATS GOOD
GREAT WITH THE
WHISKEY DRINKS TOO!
THE WORLD OUTSIDE
Be inspired by nature in the raw
At its core, a real and living thing
It can bring life to all the senses
No defences, just lost in wonder
What lies under, often hard to see
A long history, but is always new
Many, by tech, can be engrossed
For most, life never has to be real
Can they feel like many others do
What is true should be embraced
Smell and taste, sound and vision
After watching hours of animation
No consideration of world reality
Fake normality is a tempting trap
Just flick and tap on a tiny screen
Life between two kinds of artifice
Ignorant of God’s law, dark fear forms gnaw
bright light of soul, once aflame and aglow,
so we pause cause of thought, that we may know,
the right path to navigate life’s jigsaw.
Shifting to silence, in staid stillness slow,
employing mind of heart, we then redraw,
map of consciousness, from desires withdraw,
that one with oneness, innate joy may grow.
In timeless time, our heart begins to thaw
and we feel bliss beats, deep within burrow,
in cocoon of completion, we lie curled,
seeing living light of Self in the raw,
recognising this world is but a show,
awestruck we behold, flag of love unfurled.
Her husband wanted everything blah.
He loved tans, grays, and whites in the raw.
She was sad for a few weeks when he passed.
But then someone said “It is your chance, Mrs. Rast.”
She started out small with two colors – red and blue.
They boded well, so she added gold and silver too.
Her house is filled with colors that she loves; it doth glow.
Heavenly husband says wistfully, “I wish this had always been so.”
Given to rejoicing of her talent,
but born neither for this time nor this world,
when doves cry: knowledge of her is latent,
in the raw state and unfettered hurled
at a pseudo adoring, fickle crowd.
But born neither for this time nor this world,
she rose above the petty disavowed
that was the hallmark of entertainment.
At a pseudo adoring, fickle crowd
she bowed as though in ecstasy contentment.
With the bright lights trained on her every move,
that was the hallmark of entertainment,
there was no escaping and had to proof
her right to existence in a quandary.
With the bright lights trained on her every move,
no one respected privacy boundary.
Given to rejoicing of her talent,
her right to existence in a quandary,
when doves cry knowledge of her is latent.
POETIC ESSENCE
a creative
impulse
on the spur
of the moment
in drops
of poetic essence
spontaneous
& prolific
from the workings
of the heart
to distil
into
another’s mind
A painting
with words
uttered
one by one
to another
an experience
of the wind &rain
of ordinary life
An
intimate invitation
to stroll within
& behind the veil,
’neath inspiration’s
triumphal arch
there
to share & participate
in the raw reality
of the creative
drive of another
A vision enhanced
by mutual
experience
of each
One thing
leads to another
translating
awareness of new
& deeper meaning
germinates
the empathy
orchestrates
the chords
as together
explore
the world
of the poetic
It felt like home
with a slight
taste of loneliness
while the tv was on,
and you laughed
saying it watches you.....
and here we are once more
looking at the deer
out the bedroom window
our clothes on,
you said it would wreck it all otherwise.
It felt like home
the pictures on the wall
spoke their glory
replicas
photography
in the raw of ansel,
and your mothers coffee cup
on a side table,
years after she passed,
still
our clothes on,
you said it would wreck it all otherwise.
It felt like home
in your sisters old bedroom,
patchwork quilt soft as snow,
you said she looked like me,
as you kissed my cheek goodnight,
our clothes still on,
you said it would wreck it all otherwise.
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.