Daughter;
who does too much, works too hard;
has nothing to prove.
I lit a match and found your face—
The smoke curled slow, like fate’s embrace.
The world was hard, all steel and gin,
But softer where your eyes began.
You walked in—low light, high grace,
A whisper carved in time and space.
The silver screen could never show
The warmth beneath your winter glow.
I spoke in lines the world would keep,
But you were silence—true and deep.
A thousand dames had crossed my path,
Yet none like you—my final dream.
You taught the tough to love again,
To see the stars through city rain.
And when they fade, as all things do,
The night still smokes—
and smells of you.
The smoke curls slow between his teeth,
A line—sharp as a blade—hangs in the air.
He says nothing, but the silence speaks,
Rough velvet in a world that dares.
His eyes—two tired city streets,
Lit only by regret and rain.
He wore truth like a wrinkled suit,
And kissed as if to ease the pain.
I watched him burn beneath the light,
A man made wholly out of night.
Yet in his gaze, a flicker—true—
Of something lost, I almost knew.
He was the dream I never quite outgrew.
At twenty-six, a gentle flame,
A golden heart, a glowing name.
With grace she walks, with light she stands,
A scholar's mind, with helping hands.
What once began with drinks and cheer,
Evolved into a bond so dear.
Not bound by blood, but something more,
A kindred soul I now adore.
She’s laughter in the darkest night,
She’s wisdom when the path’s not right.
An honour student, bright and true,
Yet humble in all that she’ll do.
You're brilliant, bold, and brave through all,
Yet still you answer every call—
To help, to serve, to be the one
Who shows compassion is never done.
Through tears and talks, the highs and lows,
She stayed—when few would dare or chose.
Understanding, patient, kind,
A rarer soul you’ll never find.
Though "fake" is what the title reads,
She fills so many real-life needs.
A daughter not by birth or name,
But loved all just the same.
So here's to her—this heart of gold,
With stories shared and hands to hold.
A special place she’ll always own,
In this old heart she calls her own.
Scott W
‘When you are not fed love on a silver spoon, you learn to lick it off knives.’ - Lauren Eden
copper red
the taste
another from the darkness
in shadows I wait
desperate for love
one more face
I need to feel it
to feel alive in this place
no heat
skin against my skin
it's cold and unforgiving
I'll forgive myself
Representative Lauren Boebert
said to her date that her boob hurt;
the poor chap only gave her a hand,
and for that they both got banned.
Lauren is a special granddaughter
Slender, petite, and pretty as a rose
The eldest one, so pleased with her,
Wishing everyone had one of those.
She wears her cap and gown today
Moving steadily along the highway
Of life, with firm goals and resolve,
Priorities arranged in perfect order
No problems which she can’t solve,
Always a twinkle in those blue eyes
Delights noted with gentle sighs
She runs faster than all the guys!
But, someday what a catch she’ll be
If that’s the route she chooses to go
One thing is for sure, she’ll succeed
I am so proud of her, you must know!
Written August 8, 2022
Lauren became paralysed suddenly overnight,
When she developed firm transverse myelitis,
An inflammation of the spinal cord, a huge fright,
Which gave no feeling chest down, a mantis.
Born 24 April 1998, she comes from Birmingham,
In Bromsgrove District in the area Cotton Hackett,
Where she sat her A-levels which got her a gram,
At Oxford Brookes Uni as a law undergraduate.
Originally a wheelchair racer with many medals,
At the junior level for sprinting and distance middle,
She’s now in trunk and arms mixed double sculls,
Coupling with Laurence Whitely to warmly griddle.
Lauren only began the sport of rowing in 2015,
And rose through the ranks with speed and creed,
In 2015 in France the pair won silver real clean,
And in Rio they rowed to gold at tremendous speed.
Delicate flower
reaching for the azure sky
you stand so alone.
You search for your truth
in the company you seek
from those around you.
Always surrounded,
yet always alone, lonely,
you keep to yourself.
Your fragile beauty
belies the pain in your heart,
and your need for love.
Pastel colors mask
your false insecurities
filling you with doubt.
Needlessly hurting,
the answer lies before you
yet your quest goes on.
White, gold, lavender,
what beauty could surpass you?
Deep green, Lauren's eyes.
05/01/15
I love the smell of fresh cut wood. Did you know that? I bet you didn’t know.
Why would you?
You never asked.
Wooden hearts dangling over a baby’s bassinet.
Be not hard like my wooden heart, chipped as a cedar output.
Wood is an insulator right?
Keeping it in like the charge of some electrical outlet cover.
Innocuous scriptures.
A vamp, that shouldn’t have, should have known better.
You should have asked me all my favorites.
I love the smell of wood, for wooden hearts cannot be broken.
Merely splintered and sawed of one’s own, free disposition and handiwork.
Let’s carve another organ.
One that can’t do anything but be whole.
Lucky wood.
Poetry is jagged and true, an inconspicuous fopa.
That’s not it.
I want to write a poem that is capturing.
One in which I can dice the words as may entice if not displease.
Here goes…
Lusting for her attention my love will not astray
Lasciviously longing for her touch I am
Left as a lonesome lover
Longing for this looming emotion to be repaid
Attentively awaiting her response as I
Adore her angelic prowess
Absorbing her passionate beauty
Allured with her benevolent touch I
Admire her decadent love from a distance
Ultimately aflame from her radiance
Unveiling this starry-eyed emotion
Unswerving this feeling that I longed to revive
Unusually risking the despair in hopes of
Undeniably finding her there
Riveting as the morning sun, her beauty is
Resonating through my veins like a drug
Rendering the urge to satisfy my desire
Enthralled in her glittering ambiance
Elated by her smile, I cannot
Escape this everlasting trial
Nevertheless will she notice my devotion
Nervously wishing to numb my emotion, to
Nimbly evade this narcotic notion
** This poem is in memory of Lauren Rousseau, one of teachers who died in the Sandy Hook Shooting. Lauren died trying to protect children. Lauren was a gentle, spirited, active young woman, who loved kids.
Lauren plays duck duck goose with the children in Heaven.
Chasing each little angel around the circle until they burst out with laughter.
After playing duck duck goose Lauren and the chidlren float balloons into the world.
To be received by someone in need of an angel.
At night Lauren and the children dance around Heaven before flying over the world,
And protecting people in need.
While sprinkling a little love into their hearts.
She understands the wind in all its fancies;
First born of all our lives in transition
Sheer elegance becomes a metaphor transparent,
To always be a Dancer in the woods.
She lives inside herself and revels in the freedom.
Her isolation green and softly shining
Incandescent perfection,
Sometimes in anger without understanding
Shame the One who bought the rain...
And let the Northern Winds of Ice
Explain the cost of lies in pain.
She, who would shimmer in the silence
Of perfect selection
Far beyond the boundaries we lay before her
Hopefully waiting behind their masques....
To watch her stepping over words
As if they would soil her heart's desire.
She understands the wind in all its fancies;
From all directions real and imagined..
And she has heard it weeping
In languages only she can understand...
She walks alone
Along a path only the Southern Wind can show her
And speaks in earnest of Life's painful questions
Within the Western valleys...
She walks alone....
She understands the Winds...
She understands.
Do you live in a Palace, little girl?
A crystal mountain's majesty
Where prismed lights of pink and blue
In butterfly profusion play...
Do you have rainbow walkways, little one?
Melting colors winding out of view
Into the Realm of Happenstance;
The Kingdom known as Lullaby awaits...
Is there a window in your mind, my treasure?
Looking out on ice blue lakes
Where water lillies mark a path
Between the warmer current's flow...
What magic do you dream, my heart?
How many Unicorns abide
In bowers traced with gold dust vines
And sleeping tigers there reside
Curled round a sleeping fawn...
What sweetness do you hear, my love?
What music shivers in the air..
What worlds are traveled in soft night songs
Around your childlike, children's games...?
Where nothing lives to cause a harm
And all who shine enhance the charm
Of fairytales and dancing stars...
Wrap soft around my priceless child;
Your blood is royal in your youth.
So sleep, my angel hearted sprite
And take these wonders as your due...
I love you, daughter mine.
You'll never grow out of your cage
You'll never be able to break from your life
The one you've know is wrong
And I think it's great!!!
To see how bad you'll live
under the roof of the hell I hope your in
My recent experiences are all easily
told in a few short words
THE WORST EVER!
and it was great!!
I think it was so reflective
of us so I'm happy to be alive knowing
that the world of Ryan Emerald
has consisted of the same type of girl
with a different look
from first to last all the same...
So you do matter
just not to me anymore
I just wanted to tell you!
One of you is alot older and the other alot younger
yet you both act perfectly the same!!! How Ironic!!
You'll never grow out of your cage
You'll never be able to break away from the fixation on me
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.