Poignant grey stain hued,
bleak month spawns limp mood,
ashen mists dispatch,
gold, pink, purple gulf,
illusive bridge tween,
bright easel and gloom
spoiled harvest’s glum cue,
winter squash, squashed bloom,
staple fireside chat,
rank odour repast,
lurch to bland essence.
yet dewdrops shroud faith
A curled pink nail,
tap on navy blue,
garment I wore,
benchmark blazer,
and matching pants,
whilst idly gazing,
at top shelf luxuries,
with lavish design,
a tinctured twang,
“beyond my grasp,”
that felicitous plead,
from ethereal elder,
whose finger points,
to green leaf motif,
breakfast tea box,
tucked between,
medley of brands,
behind shelf label,
“your lofty stature,”
“towering boon,”
her citrine whisper,
my wobbly lurch,
I self adjust now,
before the setting,
of caffeine boost,
in basket mesh,
hug swops usher,
vanishing in lane
A winter has come into our forest
I have no idea exactly how long
I was merely a long-lost tourist
And now I see of all our leaves are gone.
Nothing damages more than a hard frost
The landscape lay injured and strained
All of the critters are scattered and lost
A sad reminder of all of the pain.
The Winter was here longer than I know
Ravaging more than I could foretell
Above my knees in the freezing snow
Stuck in the sad foliage of farewell.
I take a plow and push through the past.
Bury the blade into our history.
I pick through ice for a mere blade of grass
Any sign of life spells my victory.
I come upon the knotted root of the oak
A fork left on a meal of an empty plate.
The tears from my eyes beginning to soak
The jagged legs that mark my mistakes.
Roots are strong and full of wisdom
They are churned inside the earth so deep
Between these toes is quite the schism
Loud enough to wake me from my sleep.
The branches lurch toward Heaven so high
The stark, black fingers reach towards the Sun
I pray that Spring comes back into our lives
That we can return where we once begun.
somber, sacred, salad, sail, seal, shuffle
love, light, lemur, linger, lumber, lurch
energy, edge, exist, eleven, evade, electric
effect, evoke, enter, exist, element, exchange
plane, poodle, play, peaches, porch, piffle
yes, s l e e e e e p y ............
To all those fence riders
To all the Gospel chiders
Aspire to the Spire
To all those who besmirch
To all within Satan’s lurch
Aspire to the Spire
To all those fake fossil fans
To all those who don’t give a damn
Aspire to the Spire
To all those in quagmire
To all with a spurious ire
Aspire to the Spire
To those who have not been hopin’
To those headed for the gate wide open
Aspire to the Spire
To those first reading The Word
Don’t let your mind call it absurd
Aspire to the Spire
To all interests that (by The Holy Ghost) have been piqued
To all: take heed don’t let your seed become weed
Aspire to the Spire
To all who fall on the rocky, thorny or along the well beaten path
To all who act a fool for the king of Gath
Aspire to the Spire
To the prisoners and their lives
To those not putting up a fight
Aspire to the Spire
Resolution:
Why the spire (if it is true)?
Because it is pointing us to
(Here’s a clue for all in the convocations)
To be in[spired] by The Desire of the nations
From lies in books they set us free
Encyclopedias are redacted
And Satie’s fourth Gymnopedie
Flooded with likes from the attracted
I’m living in the brave new world
It works far freakier than Huxley’s
I’m bought and sold and I download
I get the codes to use them aptly
I’m quite a modern chap these days
No more a fossil left in lurch
Daedalus AI builds new maze
Keeps every Theseus in search
Where is that famous silver thread?
But I just passed the exit gate
I heard the Minotaur is dead
The ambulance arrived too late..
Always thought God's an odd bod
Untruths like hoofs stuck in a clod
Over us aloof just run roughshod
So don't give love above the nod
No proof where Angels ever trod
More encores from the laws of sod
Each church on a perch made a wad
Will besmirch then constantly prod
Tribal bible merch from God squad
Us all in the lurch bait on their rod
We're all just peas in the same pod
No merry on sherry on vicar's quad
Fickle like feather tickle of Ken Dodd
As through the strife of life we plod
Always been more rocker than mod
But still we are all carriers of the hod
As yes ultimately we're all on our tod
Because yes confess there is no God
More and more US politicians are talking openly of Jesus.
Fewer and fewer people in the US are going to church.
Fewer and fewer people are thinking about how He sees us.
More and more politicians leave us in the lurch.
It's sacrilege to question someone else's faith...
when we can't see into their heart.
It's sacrifice to question our own motive...
when we can't see past the tiniest part.
It's opportunism to turn the world upside down...
and hold the Word upside down.
It's opportunity ev'ry time it comes 'round...
ev'ry two or four years to turn things around.
After wedding in our church,
Valentine was left in the lurch,
Cupid offered red flower,
Wifey from abuse did cower,
It was a bouquet of chance,
Horror from romance,
Yes, any rat can turn,
None wept over his urn,
Cupid flitted away,
Battered wife now okay,
And he had been turning back,
Global chicks cut his slack,
He was no gal's kind of guy,
Lover he did not personify,
Little women beware,
Keep safe when dating there!
Sooner or later the presiding politician
will be pushed off his perch
made to do the walk of shame
on his own and left in the lurch
then marched off into eternity
no matter how loud he begs
with head bowed down low
and tail tucked between his legs
he went on to bomb and kidnap
after his flag unfurled
and became the self-elected
policeman of the world
by annexing Canada and Greenland
he wants to make America large
guilty of piracy on the high seas
blame those who put the clown in charge
he may beg plead bribe or cajole
only to wear on our nerves
but on the whole let's dump the chump
and hope he gets what he deserves
The separation
of lurch and state.
The year when breathes breaths its last but few,
No time to plan the new based on the past
Wishes and worn memories’ dying cue,
The coming year seems an empty canvas
Or a collage of a few stray patches
From yesterdays-- mere graves of lost out dreams,
Raw choices, feelings fixed with few stitches,
Expectations gone wrong like dried out streams.
Taking a bag filled for the past travel,
We scarce can take off on a new journey,
What the New Year for you tend to foretell?
Based on the past memories, naught any,
So, leave aside what so leaves you alone,
The year’s left you in lurch and all but gone.
____________________________
Sonnet | 09.01.2026 | dreams, memories, New Year
Practice any, it is only skin deep,
rituals which erase not the ego,
so if we’re to take a consciousness leap,
each act of doership we must let go.
For a feel good factor we meditate
or perhaps go to a temple or church
but as long as focus does fluctuate,
fickle mindedness leaves us in the lurch.
Remaining still and surrendering will,
simply observing bliss magnetism rise,
emptiness of cleansed heart begins to fill,
with divine grace then ushering sunrise.
Ego urge is but animal instinct ~
Let go oh hermit and be with God linked
There's gravel grinding in my gut; a godless gearbox of grief growling in my belly's black cathedral.
My heart hammers like hell's hooves, hauling the hearse of every hope I ever had.
I eat dirt for dinner and call it divine, choking on crumbs of my own creation.
My lungs lurch like dying engines, exhaling elegies of exhaust and extinction.
Every breath burns a furnace of forgiveness that refuses to cool.
The devil drums on my ribs like thunder made of teeth and tin.
My tongue tastes of tombstones and tar and a sermon spat through shattered glass.
Even silence stabs sharp sanctified hollering hymns of pain through the marrow of midnight.
I am the meat of my own misery devoured by despair divine.
And stll the gravel grins inside me, grinding and glorying in my ruin.
With green lipstick on pouting lips
and pendulum sway in her walking—
adoration at finger tips—
thankfully we can’t hear her talking.
But now, everyone is without poise.
HD glares and surround-sound noise—
Producer of his own life story
content in all its gory glory.
The six-finger selfie in church
claimed by the Director to be right—
his hue clashed wildly with the pyrite.
Minions’ common sense left in lurch.
The grainy figure lost his detail
as the entourage has now hightail’d.
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.