Da Vinci so famed for his 'Mona'
this Lisa is such an enigma
My preference is his first painted face
hence a clerihew pic with such grace
Known for Venus is Bottecelli
With hair so very carefree
A birth so imaginatively interpretative
rightly an conic superlative
Lichtenstein Warhol & Mark Rothko
varied modern art style now on show
Make of it what you will
prints thereof still 'ring the till
You Master dying for me is Insane.
Your love is so great Lord Jesus.
Thank you for being my best friend.
Mountain skies spent before the King of Kings.
River times enjoying your presence.
Knowing you are my best friend Lord is great.
Trusting in you makes me Smile.
The world is a ghetto
Filled with beggars, gypsies, tramps and thieves
And then a whole bunch
Of hapless fools without a clue
They are in fact the real slaves.
The major religions after all are designed
To assuage the lot of this ghettoed mass
Who are slaves to their own mind’s habituations,
With hope and fear, dogma, and conformity,
And not the masters amongst them
Who fear not their freedom
Having no need for intermediaries
Go about their lives,
Be it under the radar
Or in the spot light,
With dignity
The world may be a ghetto
But it’s the best one we’ve got,
And slaves can always hope to be free,
And even sometimes find a master
Who will show them the way.
(10/26/25)
sometimes there are cruel masters
who sneer and inflict pain for no reason at all.
i do not know where they come from — why do they come at all — or where they go
and so i am always afraid.
today i awoke and felt anxious and sad
i wondered, “will it get worse?”
the sunlight is pure truth
and only that matters.
i sit outside and feel my body swell with its warmth -
birds are playing and fighting and singing as the wind
hurls them about.
we are warmed and illuminated by the same glowing, burning sun. —
somehow the sweltering heat reminds me of something
and i am not afraid.
Where am I?
Don't tell me I'm in Nigeria
Did I tell you I want to be born here
Is this wickedness or something.
Where am I?
Why Africa why not the world?
Why subject me to the colonial masters
Why making me a slave to westerners.
Where am I?
Why the world why not Heaven?
Is this mere wickedness or Ignorance?
Why bring me to this hostile world?
Unborn me right now
I prefer peace to war, love over hatred
Acceptance rather than rejection
A world filled with love, peace and harmony.
Like Harry Potter, the sorting hat (my mom)
has placed me in a bloody, crimson colored school.
It’s disorienting, as I go about, the logos are wack.
Poor little rich girl
no beachside lovers
this interminable, scorching summer.
I’m swept up by scholastic spirit.
Can you hear it? Cause it’s deafening me,
on this cool, dry, Boston orientation day.
As we finished our morning 8k jog,
the sunrise blossomed, painting hot lava clouds
with hues of yellow, orange and pink.
We’re traipsing unfamiliar paths,
It’s not what we’re used to, the roads are uneven
and the architecture’s all boxy and wrong.
.
.
Songs for this:
New Toy by Lene Lovich
Better After All by Jonatha Brooke
Now At Last by Feist
I’ve moved out (of school),
I’m moving in (to school).
My joke is that I’m having a ‘moving experience.’
Graduating college (3 days ago) was a dream come true
I’m starting a master’s degree in 7 days.
You have to admire the efficiency.
Do I have your permission to bear my soul?
I might have imposter syndrome.
I’m a harsh critic—of everything—but mostly me.
I’m over the romance and pressure of school.
I’m starting the romance and pressure of school.
Don’t worry, this isn’t hapless, sad girl literature.
Or a diary—it’s a portrayal of my inner life.
.
.
Songs for this:
What Dreams Are Made Of by Evann McIntosh
Messy by Lola Young [E]
The Romans were totally amazing
Whatever the arts they were so astounding
The sculptures touch
The painter's brush
Beyond perfection unrivalled praising
A world built on secrets, masters who seek to destroy
You play with our minds like a child with a toy.
You put guns in the hands of innocents and tell them there is a war to be won.
Putting nation against nation knowing a sea of blood over the lands will run.
You abandon the old and indoctrinate the young
and when the people speak out you silence their tongue
You cause civil unrest by introducing new laws
Then laugh at your tyranny behind closed doors.
You squeeze every penny you can get out of hard working folk.
High taxes and cost of living, their aggravation you gleefully provoke.
You fill their heads with distractions, because to you its just a game.
To bring a new world order to humanity has always been your aim.
You build empires for your selves, how much money do you need ?
People all over the world are starving because of your greed.
You steel from the destitute, is the money really that good.
Will it buy you redemption, do you think that it could?
You hide your selves from us and your need to control.
All the money you have made. will it buy back your soul ?
The Romans were totally amazing
Whatever the arts they were so astounding
The sculptures touch
The painter's brush
Beyond perfection attracted unrivalled praising
The Masters Touch
Your gentle touch
has saved my life
healed the wounds
of a life of strife.
Your gentle touch
has helped me see
the ripened fruit
of the living tree.
Your gentle touch
grabbed me by the hand
and pulled me from
the sinking sand.
Your gentle touch
reached down from the cross
and purchased me
at great cost.
Your gentle touch
will carry me home
and I will kneel
at your throne.
A gang of three guys displaying their flairs
Nonplus by the grin boy with curly hairs
Horror by the toothless teen
perfectly suits Halloween
As if he is Holmes, the third puts on airs.
Expelled from paradise, directed down to hell
Whose court is talking about justice here?
Yours are the apples, and your garden blooms so well
Pick any fruit, and treat the snake, my dear
The cruel punishment will never put them right,
Your congregation of the disingenuous slaves
The triumph of the law will not be glorified
By their rants expanded through the airwaves
If it's the other way around, what about
The high intention of a servant to command
Slaves become masters, so you see their snouts
Stick everywhere, your privacy is scanned
Sisyphus pushes up again his cobblestone
Choirs sing the psalms into the painted sky
Whilst in his tiny room the last bookworm
Hears the voices of those who refused to die.
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.