When I looked up
in the noise of the busy restaurant,
the day half done,
my tea cold needing refill
and there he was
as I always remembered him.
An old but familiar face
grayed hair, glistening blue eyes
reaching out across the cacophony,
how well he once knew me
back here
in our old similar haunts.
I paused to catch his intense glance
wondered if he could recall the old slow dance
when two hearts were bound
lost to the noise that drowned
the edge of time
as it slipped away?
He smiled, a devilish grin
did it bring back to him
the us that was back then,
as he rose and was slow to step away
his hand clasped mine
and beckoned me away.
When first the Covid plague had laid me low,
Methought I'd been in Tartarus below;
My teeth did chatter, naught could warm me there;
I gasp'd, I choked, I fought in vain for air.
The quicksilver stood calm, and said, "Not ill."
My legs did fail… and O, that bitter chill…
Tenderer, sweeter
Heart's heard upswelled
In birdsong, blossomy air
Whilst unbroke tis
Intoning what pleads
Love's "where are you?
Evening call, echoes through it
Shakes hell's abyss.
she always has been,
even when i was a little girl.
she would refuse to pick me up,
refuse to read to me,
take toys from my hands
and leave me wondering
what id done wrong
i think shes always held some disdain for me.
maybe i ruined her life
maybe she looks at me
and sees what she lost
maybe she hates me for it?
now she favours my sister,
and somehow im always the one
whos wrong
the difficult one.
the disappointing one.
the one who should have known better
my health goes disregarded
toothaches become nothing
stomachaches are nothing
pain is ordinary
she cared more when i was little.
why not now?
nobody believes
its worth noticing
nobody believes
im worth noticing
im sorry
that i couldnt be better
I like the color yellow
why
i like old cars
you cant
I love the sun
I hate it
I love cold weather
I hate cold weather
why do you hate
why do you sit there and negative
when you can positive
why are you dark
when you can light
when the world says turn
why do you stand still
What monster has MAGA adored?
The Halloween “head” orange gourd!
As a carved pumpkin
Mad Trump with his kin
Score loot from their trick-or-treat horde
Nature tickles my senses year round.
Her treasures are easily found.
From heavenly skies to uncommon ground,
Nature's stimulants abound.
I observe a sky where sun and rain compete.
The sudden rain cools the summer heat.
As vapor rises skyward off the street,
A rainbow provides a dazzling treat.
Thunder announces an approaching storm.
As I watch, dark storm clouds form.
The smell of ozone fills the air,
While lightning carelessly strikes here and there.
The northwestern wind moves the storm along.
The skies clear and the birds resume their song.
A busy bee is buzzing in a flower,
Only briefly interrupted by the shower.
Nasturtiums dance lightly in the breeze.
Their nectar delights my tongue with a squeeze.
The colorful flowers are Nature's bling.
Their heady scents to my senses cling.
My world consists of these simple things.
I'm thankful for the sense of joy life brings.
You think you see me,
but you don't.
You see the mask I put on,
but not me,
not the real me.
You say I don't wear a mask,
that you would know if I did,
but you don't know me!
You don't see me!
And how I struggle in the world,
in conversations,
in gestures.
You don't see me,
pretend to be someone I am not.
You don't see me,
imitate your language,
your faces
your interactions,
your signals,
your cues,
your words!
You don't see me!
Under stars in the heavens,
And before Your crown,
Dear God of love,
I come to You now:
With each prayer, every question,
Crucified ‘neath my brow,
And the tears falling in,
Should be pouring out;
So, let the case be opened;
Hear my fervent cry,
When each word as a hem,
To emotion draws nigh –
I walked around our farm’s “block” one day,
Each side of which is a country mile.
Noticing details along my way;
Sights, sounds, smells, and feelings made me smile.
Cows in a pasture gently grazing;
Some glanced at me but not with alarm.
Now horses who at me were gazing;
Sensing, I felt, I meant them no harm.
I strode past a wood, hiding a deer;
Watched two squirrels clatter up a tree;
Crossed a bridge above water so clear;
Passed some hives but not one buzzing bee.
I smelled freshly cut hay in the field;
Farmer’s crops help him pay his lender.
Pondering the joys my walk did yield;
Loving this simple country splendor.
I asked questions to the machine.
It answered all.
It seemed to understand me.
So I felt ashamed sometimes before it
For my lack of knowledge
And every weakness I told of.
I hear the susurrus of wind
combing through sycamore
leaves,
a liquid, percussive hush
that trembles against the
windowpane.
Distant traffic hums- a
low, guttural undertone to
sparrows
arguing in bright, staccato
syllables above the
telephone wires.
I touch the luminous grain
of the wooden table,
cool and pitted, worn
smooth by years of palms
and coffee rings.
Sunlight lays itself across
my skin in incandescent
ribbons,
while the air carries the
faint, powdery silk of dust in
motion.
I smell petrichor rising
from the rain- washed
pavement outside,
mingled with rosemary from
the kitchen and the
resinous breath of pine.
There's cinnamon, too-
warm, nostalgic, curling like
amber smoke-
and the metallic tang of
ozone after thunder has
passed.
I tasted morning on my
tongue: coppery water,
the buttery unctuousness
of toast, honeyed and dark,
and the faint, crystalline
effervescence of cold air
when I step outside and the
world fills my mouth.
This is the world- tactile,
sonorous, fragrant,
palpable.
Not abstract. Not Distant.
A benediction of sensation,
pressing itself, generous
and vivid, into me.
Take it.
The numbers, the digits, the little green glow
of whatever I'm supposed to be proud of.
Take the savings, the someday money,
the cushion I built for a fall
I no longer believe in.
She smiled,
and the whole street turned gold.
The man selling oranges is a saint.
The bus driver, a poet.
Even the pigeons look like they've been
dipped in light.
I could stand in the middle of the crosswalk
and hand out my heart like flyers,
here, take some, there's plenty,
because one curve of her mouth
and I'm a river that forgot it had banks.
People spend their lives
counting, stacking, chasing the next zero,
afraid of the day the balance runs dry.
And I'm over here
a billionaire in the only currency
that ever mattered,
the way she looks up
and the world rearranges itself around it.
So go ahead.
Empty the account.
Let the screen read nothing.
I'll still be standing here,
drunk on the sunlight in her teeth,
rich beyond arithmetic,
every number I've ever owned
bowing its head
to a smile
it could never afford.
A skull
A cup
A mug
A house of ribs,
No heart
No lungs.
Crooked serifs,
Fall like teeth.
No name that fits,
And no room to breathe.
Fingers,
Pinch the tongue—
That couldn't speak.
As every word runs away,
Scampering on little feet.
Oh.....
Look there goes my ghost.
Out here on the street.
~Kynsie~
I forget the bar sometimes
And offer up my honest rhymes.
No underlying meanings to puzzle through;
No flourishes to add more goo.
Just plain and simple is my way.
With familiar words, I'll have my say.
You'll get my message right away.
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.