From out of this hill's wide girth
Have shaped, and stately
Though old, and at rest
A grand dame's posture.
In folds of its lower slopes
Traced, spread out, before
With bluebell threaded
Gown's timeless allure.
One face and two looks.
As unbridgeable
Each world in time's impression
Not relatable.
Smooth and sweetly pleased
When all is colour
To that rougher, hardened o'er.
Long aft whose dulled hour.
We ran to the car and drove to the rabbit farm
We wanted to see the bunny who caused so much harm
This bunny had torn up the hutch, thrown off the door
There was shrieking in the barnyard and a lot more
Watch your step, there is blood, someone said
A fox was thrown out of the coop on his head
Is he dead? Someone asked. Is he DEAD?
I thought there would be humor, I was scared instead.
Is the terror still in there? A teenage bunny asked.
We could hear slapping and hammering, which stopped at last.
Finally emerging was a petite little unassuming bunny.
I am her brother, said the other rabbit, and she ain’t no honey.
Not to make fun of used car salesmen, but seriously !
AP: Honorable Mention 2026
three smug elves were beyond merely satisfied that day
They had smug looks that in no way slid off or went away
Have you ever seen such looks? We other workers asked each other.
I have said one of the smarty pants ones; it was my mother.
He prances around so proud like he owns the coop
He'd feed the hens but can't manoeuver the scoop
AP: Honorable Mention 2026
Asleep, do all looks soften
For severity.
Even those of fierce cruelty.
The moon has risen.
A cub, in its innocence.
Cooled, whose tiger face.
Even you, Earth; through our race.
Moon, your effulgence!
My life just didn’t start when I was born
It is interwoven with those who have come before
Many people make up who I am
Some I have met but for a few short years
Others have been gone long before I am
From far-away lands they came to be
Looking for a better life for them and me
From all kinds of walks in life were they
But yet each has made an impact in some way
As my hair could be curly or straight
My eyes could be as dark as the night
Or as blue as the sky
My skin could be light or dark,
Or any shade in-between
My genes are what my ancestors gave to me
Whether it be shaping the country
Or shaping me
Their journey continues even in me
my lower left arm from the elbow on down
looks like a chicken leg, I fancy toasting it brown
imagining it moist, I bet it would be tasty.
Put down that hatchet says my husband; don’t be so hasty!
they told the old hag to wear colors that night
a former butterfly, she did so, in fright
the coven of witches intimidated her with winks
she wore blues, greens, oranges, yellows and pinks
She looks like a butterfly! A younger witch said.
She used to be one, another replied, shaking her head.
The old hag nodded to the young one, who understood
Then she flew off through the forest, to land on some wood.
Hoping to be changed back to herself before spring
She heard a familiar’s bell behind her going ting-ting.
Sorry said the cat, but you need to return right away.
They want to ask you some questions, and they do not play.
How I wish I had a hawk’s far stare
or eyes more agéd than my face.
I do not have a mountain man’s hair
to lend me gravity, solemnity and grace.
I cannot grow a beard, full nor long,
to add wisdom to my plain looks;
my voice, though exotic, cannot hold a song.
I am made for radio, but with a sound for books.
When I tell people I am a poet, they say,
with their eyes, if not with their tongue:
‘you look as common as an everyday day
and your mouth sounds like an everyman’s son.’
Yet I am a poet - before God, before men,
and I’d rather look wrong, but do right with my pen.
green beans, and by the way
onions, mushrooms, garlic,
Italian seasoning, parmesan,
salt and pepper
air fried Polish sausage,
hot sauce (your way)
spicy mustard (mine)
white loaf, fresh from the oven
with softened butter
sitting close by
watching our show
saying a quick blessing
before we begin
You and Me
You appear beautiful, smile so free,
Makeup's not needed, just you and glee.
A lover of dancing, full of zest,
You're a queen to parents, they love you best.
Strive to do good, in every place,
Held high your name, with a smile on your face.
Embrace life with efforts, pure and bright,
Virtues shine through, like morning light.
Be a shining star, a beacon so bold,
Illuminate worlds, young and old.
Let words inspire, touch hearts with care,
Create a lasting, meaningful share.
Beauty lies deep, beyond mere looks' sway,
In kindness and wisdom, you'll find your way.
Be the poet, creator of art so fine,
Leave a mark on hearts, forever divine.
Pursue your passions, with zest and might,
Achieve the best, in morning's light.
Shruti, your name's a treasure so dear,
Carry it with pride, banish all fear.
.
with that Eye
az death
it's instrument
each time
mine feelz her daughter
.
she stood
'tween thuh kilderkinz
hern pierce’n
gaze
az if
familiar with mine
indifference
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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.