The patriot platform, have come to the fore.' In England, making an impact
Of that i am quite sure' can they bring
Co-hesion? Lift a country of of its floor.?
They say they are non-violent, and shy of
Politics/law..I can't see an easy road at all.'
So many promises have fallen through.'
Can they steer clear of the banksters
Usurious; fell and foul.that is so true" Then maybe
Just maybe? they can get their land out of
The hole its entered, with right actions and stromg hands , to the plough. They
Need to be, and stay as people centered.'
Platform 666 Exit from Hell
I’m leaving hell today,
waiting for my train.
Suitcase in hand
but have I forgotten something?
My favourite brush is left behind.
Do I run back?
Is there still time
to reclaim what I lost?
The tracks are humming;
the train is on its way.
On X maybe musk is vexed ? It appears there is a price.? Placed upon a certain
Life..' Is it actually an act of vice?
In allowing a call to slice.' Into the social
Fabric of a Nation.' Who are being just that
Trifle.' Pendantic.? In their actions of defence.After real aggression, perpetrated
And multi-layerd, was by Isreal projected hence, with America soon to join, in the very acts of bringing
ruin..' It all seems un-holy
to me.' Now it has morphed onto a world platform,
in the form of a blood-price
In an advert, that seems openly to promote vice.'
Two years ago,I was encouraged by some friends
and also by my wife
To write some memoirs,
some description of events in my life
Two hundred hand written pages
in two years, since this project began
Since self discovery that I was capable of writing verse,
for six months the memoirs have sat idle, I compile poetry as quickly as I can
With this new poetic skill I am still able,
to record the aims of the memoirs, but in a precised form
Poetry I feel, provides a non confrontational platform,
when one wants to present controversial opinions, that deviate from the norm
I am regarded as an elder and I hope the definition,
includes wisdom not just age, I still wish to remain open and continue to learn
In the hope I am able to assist others
an objective, I never will adjourn
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
empty train platform~
midnight rain taps old tin roofs
no footsteps echo
a stray cat licks its wet fur
under the flickering streetlamp
i need to know what's going on
we're barren over here, yet over there
look at them smugly reading the NEWS
'can you throw one over pal?'
he pretends not to hear me
and looks down the platform
he's pretending to see if his train is about to
arrive, thomas and friends, and it won't be
here soon, so wind it in
i give up and wonder why
platform 1, surely the pinnacle,
has been abandoned of any recreation
although next to my son
is a miniscule glass bottle of whisky
which implies someone was having fun without me there
has peace been achieved?
has the new plastic waste initiative justified government intervention?
how many wickets do we need this morning?
i yell these at the man over on platform 2
i am then taken away
and hope to be a headline in the morning
"Cake and Jingle"
Written by
Aria Sooth wants
And
"Groovy" A. Staves
She's the "Glam"
Gotta say she's glamorous
Soothing and sexy
Charismatic
Yeah she's got charm
She's the "RIZZ"
You know what I'm saying
With style and class
With main character energy
I love her smile
You know she ain't playin
attractiveness
We all agreed
she got that
Type of popular appeal
The soft launch
We got something
Going on
New to you
She and been dating
For sometime
Is it delusional
To say I am
Her only one
Am I crazy to say
I am her man
Pillars built on words,
Seeking votes with grand designs,
Offing yet unfixed.
©bfa042325
I said I'm on a train to meet you,
But you won't be waiting there,
I look around the platform,
I guess you really don't care.
I used to ask for you to be here,
But now I just want your call back,
But I can't find you here,
So I guess it's time to pack.
I drag my suitcase along,
And wonder through the streets,
I swear I heard your laugh in the air,
My heart skipped a beat.
I'm on a train to leave you,
Why weren't you waiting there,
Platforms still empty,
And you still don't care.
Poetry Soup gives in plenty the literary opportunity
To show-case the assorted skill of poetic creativity
Emanating out of the fantasy fountain of imagination
The torrent of words flows with the streams of elation
Ripples as poems with the rhapsodic rhythm of heart
Yearning to become poignant pieces of reflective art.
Sensual poetic exuberance envelopes the satiated soul
Permits the muse to get eloquent under lyrical control
Unperturbed by the cacophony of the mundane disarray
Perceives bliss in rhyming journey out of dismal dismay
A genial platform for new poets to make a mark that glares
Poetry Soup recipes the communicative community shares.
The subway platform is empty,
posters, the occasional bench
a fire extinguisher in a locked box,
over-stuffed trash receptacles,
the usual graffiti.
No people, the strangers you travel with,
all those commuting shadows
that you hurry by -
an absent factor that keeps you
looking over your shoulder.
You hear distant movement and chatter,
of people on other adjacent platforms,
hear the rumble of a train approaching,
Normality is over there.
Here there is a lack of such sounds,
loudly a void shouts through,
an empty bottle of vodka
rolling toward you.
It's not late or early,
yet the emptiness reverberates,
the tunnel whistles,
as air is pushed along it,
but it is the vacancy of footfalls,
that spooks you most,
that and the death rattle of the rails.
On a plate form much like one we recall so many years ago,
Stands a young man with a plan and a path we call follow.
His words take us back to another
Place and another time.
They wake up those memories that linger in the corners of our minds
The ripple of hope is still here today
Listen to his words he’ll show you the way
On the platform the young man stands before you today
He’s not standing for a party in any way
He’s standing for the unity of the people of this country
*Suicide*
Suicide is not the answer,
But there's no option..
People fight for there stand,
People fight within themself..
Nothing been on there side,
None is there to support them..
Suicide is not the answer,
But there's no option..
Life is just a race,
Love, care, respect are left behind..
Blaming insulting are trending,
As money can buy love, respect, care..
Suicide is not the answer,
But there's no option..
People say how coward he is,
when he was alive none supported..
He fought hard,
He fought with himself..
Suicide is not the answer,
But there's no option..
broken heart been heard louder,
Now money speak louder..
It's a fight within himself,
he is a fighter..
Not a loser,who fought till his last breath..
_veer
The only soup, which blends the flavors from every nook of the world.
I too am an ingredient and I feel proud.
Not a pro, still today I count my writes.
I thankyou all for this wonderful platform:)
To my surprise,
No family member ever admires,
What I write and how I describe.
Neither I am an English student.
Nor am I a professional versifier.
Nah! I don’t even know the genre and type.
It is just Poetry Soup, which strives to hone,
My every thought, expression and song!
Every time I open to see how many views, how many likes.
I feel glad when my mentors cherish and recognise!
Yes, they are always by my side!
It’s not for fun that I write,
Poetry teaches me how to appreciate and empathise.
Let’s me share my laughs and hide my cries!
Helps to express during lows and highs!
Feel and sense the unseen,
Gather courage to express and mean,
From vocabulary to character, poetry adds a beautiful sheen.
Quotes…Stories….Blog…..Poetry; choose as per your forte!
A beautiful fragrant bouquet.
An ambiance which positively motivates.
Poetry soup deserves encomiums and accolades.
Colors, I see colors and textures around me.
The scent of the hot wires and every spark
that tames the perpetual falling and forever
running metro. There are people, all sorts of people,
eagerly waiting, clearly losing their patience and
people, standing so still in their own melancholy
of mind. The odor, oh, the odor mixed with the
array of perfumes. People chattering, some loud,
some discreet. Those glooming, little eyes. Waiting
to see the choo choo and hopping on it. Them
running around the station as if no one is watching.
The rush and chaos, the horn of the metro brings.
The pulling, pushing, rubbing of the passengers to
get in this one train. Finally inside, searching for
the empty seats for there are none. Even when
standing, the odor follows. People peeking into
your phones and overhearing your conversations.
The chaos subsides, as the horn goes again,
signaling the departing of the train. The platform
No. 3, standing there, still, lifeless, waiting for the
next set of passengers, to feel again what it's been
feeling for all these years, not murmuring,
never murmuring.
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.