Bird mouth on the brain sells
plump unstately bucked up
matters of actual o-
bligatory occurrences at
Owl's Creaky Bridge where
forageable items can
spawn like people squeezing
elf-aware and clammy chowdered
clown adults from
rubes off courting blots of
nightingale PM firenze
crushed and all mixed up be-
between a frequent
moving stream of
freebies wheeling in a
west virginian's mother mar-
ried pupward to a
shapeless clumping mob or timely
hunk stoned sober old and sentient fac-
tory molding
silver fish resigned to meet-
ing parties all aligned and
drawn from quarters pound-
ed into minds repeated over
bendless queasy headed eggs a-
top the Falling Garden Wall.
Of all the types of dance there are
Across a world-wide map,
My very favorite one, by far,
Is any type of tap.
There’s something ‘bout those quick short moves
With that staccato sound
That gets me into happy grooves
When tap shoes are around.
Today we saw the final show
Of a two week tap dance run.
The joy on stage produced a glow
Which covered everyone.
I wore a ninety-minute grin
And didn’t have my fill.
I couldn’t keep my feelings in;
My feet would not stay still.
It was a privilege being there,
My husband by my side,
To soak up such delight (so rare!)
That tap dance can provide.
Happy New Year from the rising of the sun to dusk to dawn may you reap a great harvest in 2024 and may your days be long and if any hurt short. Go after your dreams for time waits for no one if you want the blessing then seek the on-time God yes he is our Lord of hosts the Great Master of all masters is always on- time. After all reaping and sowing is an all-time process of great expectations and value of whatever you sow you shall also reap this in my ears sounds like great news and music. Happy New Year to all and to all please enjoy good food good loving good days ahead with your signed signature of pure love and grace.
Well Soupers, PoetrySoup has produced its second anthology. For those who submitted poems for consideration, we want to thank you for the wonderful submissions. We wish we could have included all of your works.
This anthology, PS: It's Still Poetry, is a much larger volume than the first publication. We received thousands of poems for consideration. In fact, we were a bit overwhelmed by the submissions. There are over 42,000 poet members of PoetrySoup. Approximately 4600 poets are regularly active on PoetrySoup. Of these 4600 poets, only about 11% were selected for inclusion in this anthology (see the names). For one Miss Joyce Faure
We believe this anthology is even better than the first. We are privileged to promote the works of PoetrySoup members across the world. Thank you, Soupe
Congratulations Joyce Faure Your work is now published in our Book of
Anthology Book on Amazon
It's Still Poetry
Congratulations
Miss Joyce Faure
I see you as you are here , oh! Lord
I need to be with you , dear Jehovah God!
Today ,tomorrow and forever !
Forever , forever and forever!
You are my happiness,
You are my Joyce,
You are my peace ,
You are my daily juice ,
You are my spicy foods,
You are the wise words.
I can say loud, loudly " I love you!"
Love you , love you , love you !
You are the only soap to wipe my heart!
My heart, my heart , my heart , my heart!.
May 07/ 2023
By Alfonso Warally Ngengethe
Mussabwa Chris
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4th May 2023
Dublin's James Joyce
perhaps not everyones first choice
Masterpiece i English prose
more formal poetry though
Dubliner James Joyce
once had an 'imagistic' voice
Then became so expermental
complex&linguistical
Scripture will surprise
When He gifts perceptive eyes
The wise seek the prize
Joyce has made her choice
She will hear God's calming voice
"My Joyce will rejoice."
Joyce Kilmer, who’s most famous poem is Trees, was killed by a sniper’s bullet July 30, 1918 while scouting in France during the first world war.
Which leads me to wonder what he might have written about war….
if he only had the chance…
I wonder if I shall ever see
A world of peace and serenity
A peace where north, south, east and west
everyone feels safe and free and blessed.
Where people look to their God all day
and lift their friendly arms to pray.
For peace…yes, peace is the thought that fills their prayer…
not just here or there…but everywhere.
A world where people are generous, accepting and humane…
where never again is anyone slain.
Fools like me do wars release….
so God please help my world find peace.
You crossed, at your time to cross,
Your death, not unexpected,
But my heart still feels the loss
Of the light that you projected.
You were the bottom storeys
On which my life has been erected,
The library that stored the stories
Of my childhood, recollected.
The memory of all that went before
In you, was resurrected.
Of whom I am, can I be sure
Without those stories you collected?
Thank you for your friend request.
Poem For my Poet friend Joyce Johnson.
MY WARM BEST WISHES FOR 4TH JULY TO ALL MY AMERICAN FRIENDS.
Dear Friend Joyce
I am unable to write back to you
Or even to send you a message
Due to technical reasons
I am sure
You would understand
Why.
I may leave that platform
In due course of time
Whatever big and famous it may be
Where freedom of writer
is controlled and crushed
Without any reasons and grounds
by the selfish interests of
The new rulers of internet and
By its prejudiced guards.
In my long associations
With my PS friends and even other friends
I have never used any language or
even words against any person, country, religions or
friend both male and female,
so it would not be a loss to me
Rather I would have more time
for my Musical Yoga, Paintings, Song writing and
Singing etc and other things.
With best wishes for you and
your good health and
Best wishes for all my poetry soup friends.
Ravindra
Kanpur India 3rd july 2021
(a parody of "Trees" by Joyce Kilmer)
I doubt that we shall ever see
A more handsome pair than you and me
Me, whose hungry mouth is pressed
Against your ample, perky breast
You look at me with sparkling eyes
And utter those sweet whispering sighs;
The tiara I gave you, you proudly wear
Above the bangs upon your hair;
In your bosom my head has lain
I’ve chased you through the pouring rain.
My mother and father alone made me
But, God alone made you, I see.
Standing in the Chapel
On a cold December morn
A golden ring upon your hand
Our vows of love were sworn
I pledged my everlasting love
From the depths within my heart
Not knowing through the many years
I'd be left and you'd depart
Now I sit here in my chair
Neath the rays of the new harvest moon
I think of the years we were married
And the end that came, all to soon
I can still see the red of your lovely hair
And the brown of your beautiful eyes
The smiling young girl of my dreams
You were so vibrant, so alive
Your love for each daily existence
Was your fervent prayer of life
You amazed me with your passions,
That little girl I called my wife
I can see you in the morning sun
And as you worked till end of day
And I'd trade all of my tomorrows
For just one, yesterday
Through a moron's dark light
I hear the muffled how of yesterday
black bars to every sin
No one knows I killed the inner wicked flipping the Bic close to the courted fuse
Jailer spit in my disgust every time where he had written my shape as water that drips from the stone and iron windows
they could not see her nature with his hidden tail from his back
her dolls blank eyes and hidden claws
until red eyes flash at me in violence creatures drawn from my way in
not lust of killing but killing to stop suffering from hell's own generals
need love for that unblaming sleep
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