I am an introvert freebee snorting buffalo
brainwashed zombie always confronting your conspiratorial
faulty gloatingly unpleasing uninquiring sociopath
as she was my reflective lyrate queen
we understand misleadingly but blamable thoroughgoing flightiness
through unfalteringly our spiteful reminiscence .
never again will these marches tactility concenter
unawares they signal the latex submarine
to drive northwards into reactive ooze ,
were he could demonstrate cryosurgery at bicuspid biont
those cookstove are a bannerlike varicosity
is that abusive bovid breath idiosyncratic ?
you would coolly autoclave his unmodifiable buttercup !
(Weekly Magnetic Poetry Challenge • September 21–27, 2026)
I hate to chortle at the sound of broken laughter,
Just like I refrain from weeping when dancing smoke fills my eyes . . .
But when dogs mourn alone,
I chafe my hands with the cold of tears of solitude.
Monuments and cairns I crave among the icy
Terrains, where dogs’ paws leave eternal marks —
The print-marks of an important visit,
Evidence of life on desiccated earth.
On board The Fram they sailed majestically
In the beginning,
Before joining a steam of blizzards they escaped from,
Returning home, northwards, gelid and depressing,
For a funeral of dogs,
The ceremony of age,
Attended largely by silent yaps of strayed thunder.
The rains are here, relentless
as ever
The grass blade is excited like
never
The season of hibernation is
over
Swirling in water, as duck dumpling
in sauce
The blade of grass has come home to
grow
It is a rich gourmet of moisture and
nutrients
Thrusts the roots, taking its journey
southward
And the shoots also going
northwards
The grass blade has come to take its
place.
As the rains continue in its
season
The lush of greenery fills the
reasons
Natural beauty in such lyrical
passion
Paradise in a paradox,
Laying her among
the lilies.
nothing in its hand
nothing in its heart
nothing in its head
northwards it gapes
what if the arctic melts
and corona car is offered
to transport your things
My brother, where will hide
with your elastic hands?
...Then, as expected, came a post-rider,
with a new letter he had to deliver:
A rancher facing evils not of this Earth,
so Sol saddled up, double-checked the girth.
Then rode out northwards in the morning dim,
never again would Victorville see him,
but this was God’s price for things he had done,
fighting monsters to earn his redemption.
nothing in its hand
nothing in its heart
nothing in its head
northwards Africa gapes
I. [Fall]
Autumnal clouds fleet
Gray in an ominous sky:
Harbinger of cold.
2. [Winter]
In silent snowy
Woods, a faint crackling whisper
As the crystals fall.
3. [Spring]
The sun rides northwards
And the countryside will stir
From its wintry sleep.
Smart savior see, listen my genuine words
Happy heart come, come check beyond
Every sweet word me, every pillar towards
Establishing a good home, too firm a bond
Kind from now we, East West or Northwards
Someone somewhere saw, a black ark right
Moving down your forehead, the best nature pencil
Over the seasons and so, who will reiterwrite?
Prior or it tore, in memories with night
Lovely black ropes underlying, around above your ears
Under towards and more, on your shoulders rest slight
Soon having said that, now I come down
Mimicking your cat walk, aping a shake in smile
On the floor on our mat, as you twine betraying frown
Sitting to smile you talk, in my ear your words pile
Every aromatic breath alert, what you serve my crown
On my knees I worst, for your say I wait
I suppose to do not, even before you queen
Smart Scarlet a must, please knock my bait
Head in this your pot, heat my boil on keen
The last sigh of the Moor, King Boabdil,
As he flees the triumphant Ferdinand,
Echoes round slopes of a mist-shrouded hill.
He looks back for the last time at the land
That he once ruled. `Weep as a woman will,’
His mother jeers behind her jewelled hand,
`For what you would not defend as a man!’
He stares northwards as long as he can,
Marvelling at the distant snow-capped hills
Gently cradling the Alhambra’s walls,
Its towers, placid ponds, and sparkling rills,
Treasuring them. Later, when he recalls
This scene, he deems its loss the worst of ills
That ever befell him, and, saddened, falls
To yearning for water from those mountains
And the Generalife’s dancing fountains.
A tale as romantic as any told -
This Moorish palace of earthly pleasure,
Its red stone, now mellowed to pink and gold,
Is a wonder of the world to treasure.
Like Boabdil, I want to hoard and hold
Its magical light, and, for good measure,
The sound of Granada’s gurgling streams
In my mind to recall in pleasant dreams.
A speck drifts in the wind blown hither and tither,
Briefly settling then takes to the air once more.
Now a charged particle thanks to the storm,
It flitters around like a beautiful butterfly.
Travelling the world at the whim of winds
visiting Australia, Asia and Africa on its way.
The frozen plains of Europe weigh it down
As it mixes with ice that freezes it hard.
Drifting aimlessly northwards, it, then
picks up the gulf stream still heading north.
Finally over the Shetland Isles it comes
to rest, Oh the tales that it could tell us.
Now it adds richness to the thin soil
here spring plants will take a grip
and burst into wondrous blooms
all due to a small mote of dust.
Hand in hand with the breaking pink light of dawn,
A light east breeze dances on tiptoes upon the water’s surface.
I stand on the wooden deck, looking out onto the quiet bay,
Scattered boats gently sway in their moorings.
Making me feel like I am flying amongst them - a bird on a wing,
Flocks of terns swoop and rise in graceful circles close beside me.
Dexterously stepping over the green covered rocks on the shore, three white egrets are here too;
They keenly pick out their breakfast in the lapping tide.
With a swoop and fall, a cormorant dives deftly into the water and disappears,
Moments later the bird emerges several metres away as if out of nowhere.
In a display of alternating flashes of grey and brilliant white,
Plovers so small and so swift turn and glide in controlled unison.
I glance northwards towards a distant gentle hum,
There great ships are silhouetted in the waking harbour.
I stand and breathe in true appreciation;
Oh, the magnificent beauty of this new day.
I had wandered a path
and followed a star
traveling northwards
it was quite bizarre
this will inside
was not my own
but something foreign
ill have you know
I finally rested
at a palms broad feet
wiped off my face
the night I did greet
far into the darkness
a stable was lit
then I knew
stars had brought me to this
for a god made flesh
was right there inside
only just born
with Gabriel beside
there on a hill
three men did appear
on camels they traveled
without any fear
Magi had come
to honour the birth
down from their camels
their feet touched the earth
the first of the men
approached in awe
sat down offerings
of gold and myrrh
the third of the gifts
frankincense’s the air
for it was presented
with a humble flair
Gold for the king
of all time
Frankincense’d
priestly he is divine
finally they laid down
the urn of myrrh
for a sacrifice was made
of that I am sure
the red kite whistles
to it's mate soaring above..
from their nest of love
chatter in the sky
northwards,in neat formation
migrating geese fly
a magpie arrives..
the starling's melody dies-
soundlessly death cries
just one flap of wings-
the sparrow-hawk makes its kill
pouncing down at will
Let me count the days since spring
And with jays and canaries sing
The moment of birth. I was born
At the bud of the young ram's horn
Fiery as a Mars in his van of war
O I love to play the cliffs and scar
And dream beneath the moon. I
Was born to laugh in tigers' eye.
Yet on the day the calender shall count
Twenty eight sunrise and no more
The peaks the eagle use to mount
Will call my name, no more, no more
For each birthday now I hesitate
Contrite to die, and will not celebrate
The hurrying of my soul to the door
I cried too when I entered here before.
Therefore the song you hear when now
I sing, is an old lament from lovers' loss
The sun slants her shadows cross the bough
I face northwards in the growing moss
All birds fly north again, you know
And yet before me the white snow
The dimming light and horizon far
Before ever I cross the sultry bar.
I was born chasing moonbeams 'cross the sky
O I was born a man and so to die.
As the geese flew north
Their honking cries
Could be heard
In clear Autumn skies
Heading home
For a winter
At Heartstone
Filled with stories
From the south
A gentle wind
Pushed them ever northwards
Grey wings, beating with ease
On a starkly beautiful day
Forty two geese
Flew through winter sun
To Heartstone
Where they will stay
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.