Transistors fizz
Electrons bustle
As robots claim
The daily hustle
The hinges creak
The oil of words
Is missing from
The mindless herds
They oft parade
With heads bowed low
Quite frankly,
Nowhere else to go
As hooked in tasks
In ruts with traction
Replace the normal
Human faction
Robots make robots
Or so I'm told
They replicate
The lies they're sold
Perpetuating
All that manic
In ways that seem
Somewhat satanic
The robot wars
Are not to fear
Just realise that they
Are here
Dispense with screen
Release your mind
In un-robotic ways
You'll find
The beauty of
The world around
When eyes you lift
Will soon be found;
Through trees and rain
Bare feet on grass
A world machines
Can ne'er surpass
The pores of life
Should breathe it in
Beguiled no more
By wars of tin.
REACTIONS
together
exhibit
display
realistic
shadows
depicted
shaped
transcendent
involving
contemplative
prescence
a setting
to
illuminate
&witness
a glance
a reference
surprising
in
a
phased
astonishing
silent
breath
perpetuating
commemorating
alarming
trivialities
ignoring
unjust
powers
hesitating
recognition
in
sublime
feelings
As earth
turns to sun
to sweep away
night gown
with broom
of light
unveiling colors
awaking sounds
drinking light
to nurture body
clocked to die
with seasonal fruits
embodying seeds
perpetuating life
so too
the eternal seed
in body of clay
awakened by God
from darkness
of doubt
to truth of Light
converting
from diversion
that needs refill
which death
cannot kill
or its hunger fill
turning to God
immortal spring
opens day
with colors of graces
beautifying it
with gems of kindness
and sparkles of tears
turned to joy
nourishing self
and hungry other
with ever present
fruits of love
leaving night
of cocoon habits
to fly on wings
of rainbow lights
love perfecting
everchanging
never ending
Paradise
Fourth Place Winner- Brian Strand-Premiere 1458-4/1/26
Mother bird
returning
with her catch
to feed
babies helpless
in her nest
is it love?
Dying plant
attacked by
some illness
or some pest
alerting
neighbor plants
to activate
defense
is it love?
God's breath
being love
in each breast
has no choice
but to cherish
and love life
in others and in self
perpetuating
cycle
seed to seed again
as it can
only humans
with freedom
to love
or to destroy
one push
of the button
and it's
humanity suicide
love is
the movement
of life
the Bread
and the Wine
the joy
of every heart
alternative
appearances
smooth
rich
beyond
comparison
a
changing
equanimity
of
vitality
visualised
in
a
melodramatic
memory
perpetuating
the
sublime
Blood diamonds, or conflict diamonds, are gems mined in war-torn regions, where their trade fuels violence and human suffering.
These precious stones come at a steep price, as countless individuals are enslaved and exploited in harsh conditions to extract them.
While these diamonds symbolize wealth and beauty, they also finance oppressive regimes and armed groups, perpetuating a cycle of despair.
In the end, it is the innocent who bears the burden, left with the hope that one-day justice will be served.
Blood diamonds serve as a haunting reminder of the dark side of human greed and its devastating impact.
How many stories need retelling
for this object to achieve sentimental value?
Does importance have an expiration date
that’s reached when no one‘s left to gather in celebration?
How many years must elapse
before this object becomes a family heirloom?
Does perpetuating an affiliation to the past
become burdensome to those living in the present?
How many memories are required
to turn this mundane object into a cherished keepsake?
Does nostalgia become obsolete
after multiple generations are gone?
Is my legacy inevitably doomed
to suffer the same fate as this object?
Springtide wind,
Jade dew.
Blossoms perpetuating beyond mortality.
The stench of puerile self-aggrandizement wafts through the air, a noxious cloud of platitudes and pomp, as the pusillanimous pustules of pseudo-intellectualism congregate to lavish accolades upon one another. How... amusing. The notion that these self-absorbed aesthetes, ye armchair sybarites, consider themselves arbiters of taste and talent, is nothing short of grotesque. And yet, here it persists, leeches on the cadavers of real artistry, perpetuating a vicious cycle of backslapping mediocrity, as they vomit forth oozing saccharine, cliche-ridden tripe, and elevate it to the status of holy scripture. Quaint indeed. The stench of their ignominy is almost... palpable.
How does it feel to know that playing by the rules was your downfall, I said I would be the last poetess standing because I can do: abattoir hymns of crimson vortices shredding the children to rain sanguinary as viscera chunks hail from above. Sorry ai can’t touch me, it would freak out to even read that. I may not have won many contests, but oops. Hehe.
SEEING FROM THE OTHER SIDE
For years, one has entertained the notion
That nations and cultures can always mix
There are customs and appearances, true
Some might close their eyes, as many do
Also their ears, as language can play tricks
Races no longer separated by any ocean
Yet integration recalibrates one’s identity
More for others to feel safe and sound
Yet difference is surely to be celebrated
Whether or not all verbs are conjugated
But gentle friction is healthy when around
Seeing people as they are and want to be
Step by step, perhaps talk over the fence
But all be aware, there’s no time to sleep
The pace at which such acceptance grows
It takes many decades, as one who knows
National cultural norms are buried deep
There is no gain in perpetuating ignorance
Learning and adjustment aren’t just words
It needs the occasional slap in the face
To recognise what passes for normality
But on further thought, is quite arbitrary
Turning away disinterested, is a disgrace
Embrace the new, mix whey with curds
I am, as were my parents before me,
undoubtedly, their parents before them...
perpetuating our family tree.
Trusting in God, and Jesus Christ is key
to their faith, as well as my own, Amen!
I am, as were my parents before me.
The Word leads us beyond reality,
together in Grace, despite the mayhem,
perpetuating our family tree.
"What's what?", "The what's/' are not," and, "('s) is," would be
from whence my life had grown from a tree's stem--
I am, as were my parents before me.
Saints behold, Heaven on Earth, all set free.
Caught amidst thistles, the Shepherd unjam,
perpetuating our family tree.
Faithful prayers transcend miracles daily,
rainfalls on forest' ... gift grows to a gem.
I am, as were my parents before me,
perpetuating our family tree.
Fanny's flirts and flings had found her fickle fame,
She couldn't shed her shady shame off her name.
T'was more give than take,
Yet none for her sake -
Till one fond foreplay - Fanny finally came.
From there Fanny's fishy repute fell deep down,
Far, wide and beyond her native English town.
Not the faintest flirt
She would ever blurt -
Fanny from then came with a fret and a frown.
Fanny's infamous frenetic fellow Dick
Stood up and came to comfort Fanny real quick.
Dick and his glory
Left in a hurry -
Perpetuating plot - Fanny and the Prick.
To Dick's bewildered eyes it turned out Fanny,
In the grand scheme of thing was drag queen Tranny.
Dick ran for his life,
And back to his wife -
Scared, seldomly strayed from adoring Annie.
April 28, 2023
What Is Woke?
Miracle Man
3/13/2023
Say social awareness don’t give me “woke”,
I’m not impressed with one’s use of slang.
Perpetuating it’s use has made it a joke,
politicians use this word to deliver harangue.
Some think it’s impressive spewing woke
and think that it makes them some big deal.
But they remain in my eyes a solitary spoke,
and a solitary spoke doesn’t make a wheel.
Acceptance can be your worst enemy,
Causing you to waste valuable time.
Creating this person that you really aren’t.
Expressions unreal
Perpetuating a persona,
Teetering on the edge of collapse.
Anticipating inclusion in the
Non-existence of inclusivity.
Causing more and more anxiety.
Express who you are and be content.
March 1, 2023
A Forms and words challenge poetry
Laid naked and bare,
Dilapidated beyond repair,
Deeper within the dark bowels of ruined Ultair,
Whose ruler is a Litch,
A city rises from a darken phosphorous pitch
of shadows and mists of unhallowed portraiture
whose sights are akin to visual torture.
Where evils forgotten lie in one's peripheral,
perpetuating fears begotten and ethereal.
Do not fret and be a fool.
Lest you forget what may beguile.
For what dwells here, of those curious shall lure;
Creatures whose countenance spell the very essence of fear,
whose residence unwillingly endure.
However, so I say, you would be wise to obey,
To never venture into the night,
of this foul blight,
not a city.
Wherein darkness consumes the most radiant of light without pity.
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.