Having entered the ‘Age of AI’
our spines to mush have turned
Bridges to common sense burned
our Luddite instincts we’ve let fly
Fear, the dominant emotion
folks ready to drown in the ocean…
The motorcar was to lead to debauchery
a dramatic increase in teenage pregnancy
The computer would replace human beings
life would lose all meaning
The motorcar and the computer we’ve somehow survived
Last I checked, more and more people alive
Perhaps we’ll manage to survive AI too
Come Halloween, don’t forget to say ‘Boo!’
They say energy never dies
but never said it'd stay for the entire ride
hand in hand, losing their minds
Even in the darkness
there's nowhere to hide
thought that when their worlds decided to collide
the pain would finally subside
Did they ever really try?
or did they just shut down inside?
countless excruciating tears they've cried
yet still numb
from losing so many loved ones that died...
time after time after time
consuming lust filled emotions
had them drowning in eachother's souls
but fears fueled the endless lies
that their bruised egos told
slowly making their hearts turn cold
so unaware of the true dimension
they belonged in
a place they created together
as their souls continued
intertwining & binding
defining forever
manifested their own demons
trying to protect themselves
from expected cruel intentions
boy, were they relentless
made nothing but a huge mess of this
love & desire
mixed with fear & anger
created an unextinguishable fire
adding fuel to the flames
whenever he was inside her
one anothers new drug
they couldn't get any higher
Hymns we hum are our own version.
We cast aside the ancient,
dogmatic liturgy,
For the hymns we hum are our
own version,
Symphonies forged in the
crucible of autonomy.
No longer chanting the
antodisestablishmentarian
strains,
We orchestrate an unyielding,
revolutionary resonance.
Every breath breathes a
nonconformist hallelujah,
An uncompromised,
multidimensional manifestation
of faith,
Dismantling the
institutionalized, authoritarian
altars.
We sanctity the beautifully
unconventional spirit,
Our voices rising in glorious,
independent ascension.
Our Opossum Has a Strong Propensity for Crime
By Frank Daub
Discovered in a backyard nighttime check –
an opossum wandering behind our garden shed.
Pin-pointed face, squinting eyes.
It did not run -- to my surprise.
Only staring, lighted softly by the porchlight.
Little.
Sleek in a white-gray-tan-straight-fur-slicked-down way.
The streets around are not friendly to its kind.
This unfair truth made up my mind.
I should let the shed-bottom harbor it.
This would require: FEEDING.
I decided the feeding plan -- without data-based reference --
would be workable.
I tried every sort of natural vegetable.
Walnuts added when the berries nurtured
hordes of ants --
Not
the opossum.
The dietary effort proved it.
Our opossum has a strong propensity for crime.
Particular it is to nighttime
sneaking forays - for food of course.
(This assured the legality of it for me.)
Our opossum was not particular to dietary do’s and don’ts;
Being just inclined to FEEDING its necessary wants.
The animal had a penchant – not a preference --
an exceeding zest for anything edible.
Incredible.
Written: September 07, 2026, for a contest Sponsored by: Tania Kitchin
Verified by HMS.COM / 8 - 8 - 5 - 5 - 8 / Syllables
********
Our dog stole Dad's sandwich one day
Then strutted around with display
Dad chased with a broom
Dog zoomed through the room
The sandwich was gone anyway
Though our times go fast,
I believe our love will last.
Our love's healing me.
Through you I forget my past.
With you, future is so vast.
History of our lives
We have time to pray for our God
Before we go to bed
Before the house grows quiet
History of our lives
Every night we go to bed early
So we can get a proper sleep
And wake with enough for tomorrow
We are not rich
We have a limited amount of money to live
And that is okay
There is bread on the table
There is peace in the room
History of our lives
Every night we go to bed early
So we can get a proper sleep
And wake with enough for tomorrow
If we were rich
We would be miserable
We would not know what to do
With a lot of money
We might lose the things we have
That teach us how to be grateful
History of our lives
A quiet prayer before bed
Not everything is plenty
But what we have is enough
Wealth can't buy us peace;
An open heart is priceless
Down all the ages.
Serial Soap
The Years of Our Lives
Serial Soap
I don't like her
Not hate, I just know I could be better
Obsidian hair falls over her face
Perfectly
Why not me?
When will I be lucky?
Today he is wearing burgundy
His raspy voice tickles so good
Oh! Look...
She is dancing on him
Her existence makes mine so dim
I don't like her
My bag is heavy today
A little shopping you know
Strayed into his set yesterday
I don't know how
We were just meant to be
His cologne smells so good
And no, I am not a creep
It was laying around
I will keep it safe and sound
His vest smells heavenly! Did I tell you that?
Cigarette butt
Whisky glass
Vintage hat
That belt forged from brass...
I can still taste his essence
Don't worry I just put out his cigarette
Protect the environment I guess
Mrs. Jagger
Makes me kick my feet
Reminiscing future memories
Breakfast in bed
I would give him total servitude
Surely my tarot readings are true
Luck is for the chosen few
I work hard just to...
To be in the same room
And her
He is in my stars
But am I in his?
Do you think I'm crazy?
After four years of marriage
I cannot remember my life before
You turned my life around
Showed me life was so much more
Now every memory is of us
Every thought is about you
In everything that I partake
It's a reminder of you
You loved me when I was down
But I never made it to my feet
I was pulling you with me
With my anger and deceit
As you walked away I saw
That you had tears in your eyes
I know it wasn't easy for you
And I had had a million tries
You won't answer your phone
You refuse to talk to me anymore
That hurts my already broken heart
That shattered here on the floor
I wouldn't change a thing
About all our good times at least
But I'd change every argument
And I never would be that beast
natural disasters for not taking care of the earth
Five senses are given at the time of birth
and sight is one of them
But all work together when one is blind
to feel the sense of space-
And slowly learn to dance by other means
instead of eyes that steer
The ears can hear the music's rhythm well
transfer that joy to feet
As sense of sound and touch will intertwine
and bodies swing and sway.
A miracle our senses work that way.
Beneath the laminated heavens built for you and I,
memories in turn of century cylinders are lost and
passing by. They beckon with a wail and personal applause
Inviting you to join, before the day withdraws.
Ignore the early stations, lost in their vignettes -
A reservoir of gemini left purling in its wake,
the scent of east-side lobster served well past its date,
daylight wasting in a condo twice sublet,
and elderflower friends that you have never MET.
Depart at Bowery and look for me -
where excess steam exhales forgotten memories
whispered out by cafes turned to sensory
bazaars, and dissipates among avowals left undone
by boys preoccupied by counting stars, not suns.
Exhausting spirits in proportion to their zinfandel -
Until you wander back by east-side locking doors,
past sleeping cats in midnight grocery stores,
at last to sunken homes with tortoise shells
to sleep beneath the echoes of farewells.
~ “The only thing we have to fear is fear itself.” ~
~ FDR, 1933
Even though I am no FDR
And I do not want to start a war
I do think there is something to fear beside fear
That something is Almighty God, please lend me an ear
He loves us, and we should love Him
But without fear, there’s no such thing as sin
And if our only appeal is to logic or man’s reason
War will be Peace, Truth – Lies, Patriotism – Treason
In fact, it seems the world is almost there now
Time to get back to fearing God again, somehow
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.