A life is not lived once
But many times over
In the memory.
Perusal of which read
Calender-flipped tells each
Stage of a story.
WHAT I LOVE - First Rispetto
Upon a perusal of things that I love
An elemental truth I have come upon
There’s nothing beautiful, below or above
Not connected in some way to a person
Life is about people, whether gent or femme
The scent of my love or a poetic gem
Even nature means nothing if you can’t share
The beauty with somebody for whom you care
WHAT I HATE - Second Rispetto
Upon introspection of that which I hate
Another splinter has been lodged in my mind
There is nothing that I loathe, early or late
That exists outside the scope of all mankind
All is connected to a broad or a bloke
Pounding music from a car, second-hand smoke
The ticking clock because it’s a reminder
I’ll soon be a thing, not someone to hold her
Sometimes, you don't see you're beautiful
Until you see yourself from someone's eyes
Who truly see your true worth and value
Who loves you without seeing your weaknesses
Blind love is never underestimate
You may see that its vulnerability
You may mistaken it as crazy fool
Might you conclude them as prone to abuse
They may not use their thinking as you see
But they have plenty of caring part
Where even the spite and maligning
They ignore and continue smiling for good
Sacrificing the body as perusal of guilt
Conscience is veiled to release compassion
Exemplifying that love can endure mocking
For the heart persist for the sake of happiness.
To visit a museum
Where you’ve never been before
Means you have the opportunity
To amble and explore.
At the Worcester* Art Museum
Were mosaics on display
And some special arms and armor
In an orderly array.
There were works by famous artists
And a treasure trove amassed
Just awaiting our perusal
As we slowly moseyed past.
In the gift shop, objects beckoned
So I bought a little treat
To remind me of my visit
And to make the day complete.
*pronounced “Wooster,” like “wood”
When the pain of betrayal is laid out
for the perusal of the world:
reality devastates dreamers,
as it sinks in.
Love cannot be granted:
it can only be accepted or rejected.
And there are no simple answers
or shortcuts: past the pain or shame
love may leave in its wake: if it moves on.
Truth confronts lies and false hopes
in their totality;
with a broken heart.
And lust's empty promises
roll off the tongue,
as they drift quietly into memory:
slipping into oblivion without making a sound.
A wounded soul is slow to heal:
for forever feelings, fester,
within subconscious dreams.
You may come to grips with your fear:
however, the pain lingers.
And so, you wall off your heart:
barring love from ever entering it again.
Prayerful perusal of the
Internal
Language of
God
Redressing of the many
Intricate
Misdirections
Attributed to
Grafting in the
Earthbound arena
Jinjagoliath
12th September 2023
Let poetry be your candle in the dark...let its flame burn in your thoughts,
fueled by the wick of your pen.
It's your literary voice, let it be heard;
for it's your connection to other sentient souls.
If you have a story to tell,
or merely find words and phrases weaving through your thoughts;
trust in your muse, yourself, and your feelings.
The skills will come in time as you connect with similar creative souls
that reveal themselves through their pens.
Poetry is a shared experience between the poet and the reader;
it can inflame the heart, stroke the ego, and appease the soul.
Capturing your thoughts on paper or screen for the perusal of others
offers a certain inner satisfaction that must be experienced to be appreciated.
Your words will guide you to a deeper awareness of self,
there is nothing like it...I promise!
You don't need to master any poetic form.
Just be the best poet you can be,
the rest will come with time and practice.
I sought refuge from the onslaught of life's compromises,
and I found it in poetry.
Poetry transposes my feelings into words, words that others can relate to,
and for a brief moment in time, we are one.
Write from your heart every word on the page
Phrases that uplift or, merely, set the stage
For your readers’ eager perusal and meditation
Express your deepest thoughts without hesitation,
Believe your thoughts are valuable to others
Hone them well with ideas … and your druthers,
Make them memorable with keen metaphors
To the inquiring, receptive mind, open up doors.
Written December 9, 2021
From a gem-encrusted window’s moonlit sash,
I peer vacantly on monetesque impressions,
as they wander every ink shade hue pathway.
bag lady street hail loner,
water colour lachrymose plight,
across the spillway nights-cape,
cul-de-sac of shadow flitting,
sprites begging to be daubed,
on some genie artist’s easel.
surreal urban pulse rate ,
spooky ghost form atom charge,
of tomb laden solemness,
sodden eerie platform where,
my silver bob tail auntie,
booked her tickets to southern rustic idylls.
she sang of autumn sunset blight,
its wan perusal o’er moisture ashen realm.
her final year on earth evoked dichotomy,
defying dissertation on that grey stone bridge,
between a luminous parade of diamond,
glitter and mirrorball municipal,
sandwich filler to that lamb,
of many bleats amid lush pastures,.
blossom facial hyacinth relation,
who once did eyelash blink,
those natural world Edens flowing,
thru her lyric laden pysche.
Alas that end of term eviction,
lifespan tenure landlord surreptitious,
in their reach cast a mural,
strain upon this tower block,
mythic folklore woman
Yes, introspection- a soul-searching quest;
deep self-analysis explored throughout.
Sincere reflection, which gets put to test;
discovered, judged- may sometimes offer doubt.
Of virtues found, lamentable or grand,
this self-examination's tough to do;
perhaps because conclusions will demand
we must amend the faults that come to view.
With deep perusal- reckoning may show
inequities of self- down deep inside;
and so, addressed or not- we'll truly know
the weaknesses and strengths that coincide.
But, sweeping out the darkness, lessens strife;
casts light upon more happiness in life.
October 28, 2020
~3rd Place~
Premiere Contest: Inward Reflections
Sponsor: Chantelle Anne Cooke
Pressure to impress, perceived ineptitude, kills
Incapable of King imitation, blame plagued eyes
Publicly pressed to deliver sought after replica
Infiltrated by inescapable history Ben despised
Failed expectation driven prime of life suicide
Hailed Presley descendant, drifted pale ghost
Image Siamesed by status of rock relic
Near half century after legend's last show
Name advantage presented pedestal
Keough's fears disallowed him to use it
Comparisons ping ponged constantly
Admirers did so in Grandad's perusal
Poverty is struggle, earning the right to survive
Power's hunger pressure cooked untimely suicide
Poets paint pictures
with ink and a palette of expressive words.
Drawing emotions, by coloring outside the lines;
scribbling thoughts onto the page.
A poet has the ability
to make the reader feel, as they connect
with what the words are conveying.
Without poets and poetry,
words are only splashes of ink on a page,
and slip into oblivion, without making a sound.
But poets imbue words with an abstract dialect
like the crying strings of a violin,
or the thump of a broken, beating heart;
supplying the catalyst that sparks further thoughts.
You cannot glean hope from fantasies,
and so, poets speak of life
with words that reflect reality;
in the empty spaces between the lines.
It takes a poet to pen the ambiance
that allows the reader to feel the words
refined for their nuances and meaning.
Poetry explores truths and taboos openly
for the perusal of the world.
Doors are left ajar, windows cracked, and closets aired out,
as ink flows from the poet's pen;
and the awakening begins, as the words turn on the light.
The experience of putting one’s thoughts on paper
for the perusal of others;
offers a certain inner satisfaction
that must be experienced... to be appreciated.
(Arbitrium Divisa)
01/19/2020
Arbitrium Divisa 6 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Gregory R Barden
Derived from "A Poet's Words"
10/26/2019
Patsy went to the supermarket
This was not unusual
Slowly stopping at the shelves
All for her perusal
She loved going shopping
Patsy was very slow
She wandered aimlessly
From row to row
Suddenly her peace began to shatter
Patsy slowly looked around
To see what was the matter
The matter was the woman
Behind her in the shop
Was screaming at Patsy
And swearing quite a lot
Patsy was mortified
At this tirade of abuse
She tried to ask the woman
What had upset her, it was no use
Trying to pacify would only irritate
The more serene Patsy was
The more the abuser got in a state
She kept shouting and hollering
Causing an awful fuss
About Patsy's deliberation
When others need to rush
Patsy slowly carried on
In her methodical way
Nothing seemed to bother her
As she went to the checkout to pay
She carefully packed her shopping
The checkout girl she paid
Slowly walking outside the shop
She put in her hearing aid!
The experience of penning one's thoughts to paper
for the perusal of others
offers a certain inner satisfaction
that must be experienced to be appreciated;
letting your words guide you
to a deeper appreciation of your surroundings and self.
Poets do not garner feelings from their pens,
but from their hearts;
for the pen is but a brush and the page a canvas
upon which to paint dreams, desires, and thoughts.
The underlining passion
and potency of the written word
can be cathartic;
when it is your thoughts that embroider the page.
Intimate feelings are allowed to drift
through those thoughts,
and gather between the lines of each verse.
A poet's words, like a poultice,
can draw emotions
from the wounds of memory,
and catapult the reader into a reality
previously undiscovered.
A poet, using a creative collage of tinder thoughts
stirs the embers of conformity,
hoping to ignite sputtering flames of awareness.
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.