From the very depths of my inner being I cherish Poetry Soup,
without the written verse I’d be impoverished as a person,
literary projects spur me on to otherworldy epic peaks,
an open channel with furtherance from lexicons endowed,
golden opportunity for human pathos rich and fair,
stomach-wrenching pain, joyous peals of laughter, mental stimulus,
visions I adhere to have a wider world impetus,
the comity of fellow authors and their honest feedback,
diplomatic goodwill hint at barren lapse within my canon,
and gracious honeyed Bon Mot of peer group kudos on occasions,
that angst-ridden moment before a contest sponsor judgement,
bold gasp of relief at higher placement than expected,
or just as likely glum expression at the baleful NA,
in support a staunch muse Jay A Pallen sheds her light,
loyal and demonstrative sister, whose sparkling eyes ooze warmth,
sagacious councillor supreme, bestowing love on this bard and their ardent stanza,
who brought to my attention bewitching vistas waiting to be captured,
influencer of my first ever piece “Downward Plod,”
where this writer’s magic life-enhancing odyssey began,
how I cherish every moment spent on Poetry Soup
Poet and saint Dunstan was great, pushed in a cesspool.'
He arose.' He survived he was no fool.' Archbishop He would be'
Counsel to Kings. Often gave he! humble yet strong he
Ordered lexicons studied songs, grabbed Satan's nose; with
Hot tongs.' From his cell of five feet by three.' He moved
On to Cantebury.'
A dispenser of dishonest vice, a peddler of blatant lies,
In his unscrupulous realms, nobility of truth sadly dies,
Where righteous vibes of morality and decency agonize;
Where benevolence cries, pensive in verity’s demise.
Masked in aura of dubious eyes, spurious is his smile,
Hiding deceptions of his charismatic, charlatan style;
Counterfeit is the profile sporting thrill of knavish devise,
Proffering affectionate gile, spinning webs of disguise.
Empowering hypnotism of an alluring, charming face,
Weaving traps of fanciful tales his adventures chase,
Mesmerizing them; seeking the disheartened as prey,
Bestowing faux lexicons of praise, that brazenly betray.
Broken pledges and vows, now bawl from his burial site,
Deep within remorseful soul, churning anguished fright,
Awakening graveyard of victims in nightmarish night,
Burning effigies of dreams destroyed, feelings contrite.
Be on guard for imposters vying lure of sensual glance,
Beware of tenders, beckoning love, enticing romance,
Beware of mountebank, a swindler~ thievery is his art;
Dedicated lifelong, to mission of stealing innocent heart.
Biographies of different kinds
Orwell with Atwood, intertwined
Old books, new books, a thousand rhymes
Keeping their words, holding those lines
Singing caged birds, sit whistling chimes
Histories, mysteries, marking time
Every volume, fixed on my mind
Lexicons, for a world we can't find
Fact versus fiction, yours and mine.
From the very depths of my inner being I cherish poetry,
without the written verse I’d be impoverished as a person,
literary projects spur me on to otherworldy epic peaks,
an open channel with furtherance from lexicons endowed,
golden opportunity for human pathos rich and fair,
stomach-wrenching pain, joyous peals of laughter, mental stimulus,
visions I adhere to have a wider world impetus,
the comity of fellow authors and their honest feedback,
diplomatic goodwill hint at barren lapse within my canon,
and gracious honeyed Bon Mot of peer group kudos on occasions,
that angst-ridden moment before a contest sponsor judgement,
bold gasp of relief at higher placement than expected,
or just as likely glum expression at the baleful NA,
in support a staunch muse Jay A Pallen shed her light,
loyal and demonstrative sister, whose sparkling eyes ooze warmth,
sagacious councillor supreme, bestowing love on this bard and their ardent stanza,
who brought to my attention bewitching vistas waiting to be captured,
influencer of my first ever piece “Downward Plod,”
shortlisted for Creative Writing Ink poet challenge,
where this writer’s magic life-enhancing odyssey began
I know languages count by silent lexicons
I know oceans measure by waving hands
I know serpents poison by miseries
I know clouds mould by whispers
I know rivers clutter by sediments
I know oaks augur by heights
I know blood oils by fossils
I know epics endure by echoes
I know ashes wither by winds
I know castles coil by curls
I know hells hasten hubris
I know I know, my ignorance by ignorance
You might have noticed that:
Trumpsky has favorite words in his limited vocabulary
"Believe it" and "YUGE" are redundancies in his formulary
But TV Talking Heads have their own words too
When one has an unusual word the others follow anew
"Hacking" of course has been around overly long
And rolls quite easily off a Talking Head's tongue
"War room" of late is an expression often heard
Talking Heads like it and accept another two-fer word
They've concluded "filter" is quite acceptable to use
It fits in nicely when explaining a deception or ruse
They've pushed "Walk It Back", "Pivot" and "Double Down "
To the back of the church where no prayer books are found
But "animus" and "leak" have an edge with an exotic sound
That's why they now insert them in every lengthy speech
When their Thesauri of Lexicons are quite out of reach
But users are reminded "verbum sapienti satis est"
"A word to the wise" is all that's needed and is the best
God
One word
Oh Poets join me in my thirst for words
There is only one
And in the mastery of language mysteries
Carried on with feeble soul to find
To speak of that which I do not know
And set it here
In light of day
No start no finish
So simple
Disease, pestilence, crimes and all discord
Are man’s design and their creation
All things in nature come to be
Not asking to be there or born
All things exist
They have no choice
There is one Being beyond all nature
Supreme above all lexicons and nations
Oh poets join me in my thirst for words
There is but one
My abecedarian fingers
Numb to their recalculations and lexicons
I brush slimly my thumb through each
And clasp myself in fives or nines
It sinks its full weight like an equivocate clasp
One gaucherie to an eldritch comeuppance
A padlock lip nimble and pivoted like sickness
Delicate but ultimately dependent upon timing
The human stomach is a pendulum
I feel mine pulse as cynosure cascaded
I cherish extemporaneous occurances
Empyrean palisades and medications
I collect as a dictator my tintinnabulations
Of etiolated tchotchke and clamp my fistful
Stumpside in the rivulet, Adamic clay bathes
Of my clasping reconnaissance of fives and nines.
I see their faces on billboards & posters
with democrat's smiles they flatter their figures
they do not paint their mastiff & slavers
The constellations of their idle ideals is missing in their pictures.
I sank back in my sofa, watching my television
pondering on the theme and thrust and tones
of these spies...their lies, vacious postulations
crass and cynical arrogance hidden in their bones.
My heart ran through the lore and lexicons
of these politicians who hide their gloom during campaigns
they win the rugged race through fraud fraught elections
....to become rulers of a people in chains and pains.
Their practice of internal colonialism is a a curse
that has roused the rebels in the oil-rich creek of Niger Delta.
Their major mission and vision is to fill their purse
with the spoils of war...between our welfare and Nigerian ninjas
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.