Vivid scrolls,
in tantalising yarns,
fantastic that reveal,
exotic envelopes of vista,
that have me transfixed,
and transported,
my brown hazel eyed,
gladsone gaze,
oe’r lush depiction,
bold brushstroke of,
myriad science fiction,
vibrant character snapshots,
that dispel monotony,
douse mundane patterns,
gap-filler of trite,
vacuous daily plod,
as I clasp otherworld,
enchantment in a dash,
novelists who exude,
endowed flourish with,
pockets of fly plots,
misleading labyrinth,
convoluted and intricate,
shady, cagy, fly-by-night,
side routes veering off,
adding riddles shadowy,
step by echoe’d step,
in hair-raising soundscape,
rushes of exhilaration,
stoke and fire,
iridescent wonderland,
escape into mythic mists,
entwined flames of romance,
laced with sumptuous,
dream moon flotillas,
a swooning heart march past,
yet I bystander engrossed,
by segue after segue.
Poetry Wheel Challenge:
Theme: Adventure
Emotion: Courage
Color: Pearl
Season: Midwinter
Form: Ode
Object: Mirror
Verb: Sing
Created using the PoetrySoup Poetry Wheel.
It was a sudden surge of energy I felt that midwinter day
When I agreed with friends to an adventure described as play
I had grown bone weary of always taking the easy way out
My mirrored face always wore a frown, a pout, or was it doubt?
I gathered what I could of courage to plod through the snow
Thinking how much the sun looked like a topaz with a soft glow
We paced ourselves for the climb and stopped for a brief rest
To catch a breath and chat, but my stamina was put to the test
A strong frigid wind made it difficult to move at a faster pace
but what beauty I was witness to on the mountain's icy face
I felt as if I'd been graciously granted a gift I'd never have seen
and in that sun kissed moment, I'd never felt more serene
but then someone whispered it was time for the return trip
I had tasted Nature's wonder and wanted on last sweet sip
Filled with awe from the day, I sang until the hour of twilight
The moon has risen like a polished pearl in a starlit ebony night
Date: 04.08.2026
A tree once was I...
Let me tell you why
you'll remember me
till eternity...
I once was so strong
To this earth, belonged
Cherished and rooted
Old and reputed
Then came a day blue
I was cut in two
They clamped me harshly
Made me smooth, bark-free
I was at a loss
Turned into a Cross
He carried me slow
We became a show
Then Simon was called
Me, he slowly hauled
Up Golgotha Mount
A harsh, rough surmount
Jesus, Son of God
Behind me did plod
Me, planted again
But He bore all pain
Cross of Calvary
Christ was hung on me
I never did think
I'd have a God-link
This is my story
Used for God's glory
I'll be remembered
For I surrendered.
{This Week's Poetry Challenge: Tree's Perspective}
Always thought God's an odd bod
Untruths like hoofs stuck in a clod
Over us aloof just run roughshod
So don't give love above the nod
No proof where Angels ever trod
More encores from the laws of sod
Each church on a perch made a wad
Will besmirch then constantly prod
Tribal bible merch from God squad
Us all in the lurch bait on their rod
We're all just peas in the same pod
No merry on sherry on vicar's quad
Fickle like feather tickle of Ken Dodd
As through the strife of life we plod
Always been more rocker than mod
But still we are all carriers of the hod
As yes ultimately we're all on our tod
Because yes confess there is no God
Walk down the old path that many have walked
But I walk down a new path the path that I once balked
Death is the deliverance from sin
Death ends the battle within
I would rather die than submit to Your will
I would rather die than swallow the bitter pill
Don't wallow in your guises and guiles
Don't relent, don't remain in your sin and your trials
Until the day that you die, you will die
Shaking your hand at the storms in the sky
To all the sapient sentients and ye obstinate serpents
Repent, repent, repent, every morning filled with a new sense
We are reluctant to preach even though we are a priesthood
A peculiar one at that, making idols in our minds and of wood
We often walk away from the open door of a Gospel chance
We would rather revert to the old path of least resistance
Instead of the new path, it's not happenstance
That we are guided by the Providential and Chastening Hand
Don't harden your heart, do your part, count it joy
God does not plod, even though we scheme and ploy
Jonah's anger was Jonah's defeat
Get on your feet (feet that are effete)
Lord help us to pull ourselves up by the bootstraps
So we can walk down streets of gold, our new paths
These feet plod. This heart
Heavier drags
Less motivated, whose mire
Of foul greeds through.
Filled up with creatures
With claws for hands.
Who, sinking deeper not one
Glint, gratified
Thereout is shown too ,upeyed.
Devil's outlands!
I try to avoid them in the crisp morning light,
but I hastily sink into their mud-caked bottoms.
I sink to my knees in their inevitable stratum.
One after another, beyond memory or thought,
swirling pools of consciousness unspoken.
Parallel immersive mythos together and unbroken.
Heavy here, my trudge from pond to pond,
egoless consciousness watches with detachment.
My fledgling demanding acts are persistent.
My emotions are unwitting and hand-crafted.
These ponds of my making create schemas
from hormones and perceptual appraisals.
I plod through stages of deepening awareness.
From weeping to laughter, I feel each nuanced valence.
Though I try to resist them again and again,
these are my schemas, my reckoned inventions.
Like a roaming wolf or a squirrel poised in a tree,
these emotional appraisals are my intentions.
These spontaneously self-organizing feelings
are my defenses, and my epiphanies of universal marvel
as egoless consciousness awaits, unspoken.
For God-search to truly begin,
we first cleanse heart from stains of sin,
by gentling each thought, word and deed,
in prayer, going in within.
Poised in stillness, renouncing greed,
ego cravings we cease to feed,
thus invoking the grace of God,
voice of truth beginning to heed.
We trudge along and as we plod,
joyful since giving love our nod,
bliss magnetism ignites our form,
the touch of God, leaving us awed.
Grazed by currents both cool and warm,
we yield; bliss takes us by the storm,
ego dies, we become the flame,
with heightened vibrance heart’s new norm.
We seek nothing and have no aim,
knowing life impulsed is a game,
played in mode embrace and release,
there being no demons to tame.
When wayward thoughts totally cease,
formless presence flows like the breeze
and in the void we wingless glide,
outcomes any, always at ease.
Trusting God, we enjoy life’s ride,
knowing He’s close, in heart inside
and in timeless time, we see Him,
He, on Whom, we’ve always relied.
I am a rabbit born to race the wind,
My feet are quick, my shadow never stays;
I spring ahead where others lag behind,
Yet lose myself in strange, uncharted ways.
They say, “Be tortoise—slow and firm of pace,
For steady steps will always win the day.”
But I am neither built for that calm grace,
Nor meant to plod along a patient way.
What fate has cast me in this fleeting mold—
So soft, so swift, so bright in outward show?
A form that glimmers, charming to behold,
Yet falters when the final winds must blow.
I dash through life with promise in my stride,
Yet reach no end where victory resides.
From the very depths of my inner being I cherish Poetry Soup,
without the written verse I’d be impoverished as a person,
literary projects spur me on to otherworldy epic peaks,
an open channel with furtherance from lexicons endowed,
golden opportunity for human pathos rich and fair,
stomach-wrenching pain, joyous peals of laughter, mental stimulus,
visions I adhere to have a wider world impetus,
the comity of fellow authors and their honest feedback,
diplomatic goodwill hint at barren lapse within my canon,
and gracious honeyed Bon Mot of peer group kudos on occasions,
that angst-ridden moment before a contest sponsor judgement,
bold gasp of relief at higher placement than expected,
or just as likely glum expression at the baleful NA,
in support a staunch muse Jay A Pallen sheds her light,
loyal and demonstrative sister, whose sparkling eyes ooze warmth,
sagacious councillor supreme, bestowing love on this bard and their ardent stanza,
who brought to my attention bewitching vistas waiting to be captured,
influencer of my first ever piece “Downward Plod,”
where this writer’s magic life-enhancing odyssey began,
how I cherish every moment spent on Poetry Soup
Busy bee;
What would be,
Will so be.
Lazy fop;
Seems to drop...
But goes top.
Only God-
When trials plod,
Knows the odd.
Well I did some today.' I know this cause
In older by a day.? Hmm..Now i missed
Breakfast.' So can't say whether it would
Have been (good or bad?) Yet i have an
Empty feeling, maybe could that be a plus.? If so
I should be glad.' I think I might be thinner.?
Yet not (waisting away) so that seems I've achived
Quite the two opposltes..I'm now inclined to say, If i could go way back further.? Or foreward?? I could
Always check the winners..So some advice
To you Tom Woody..Be aware there could be sinners.' Who won't give out the information yet have had more than three
Dinners.' You won't tell by their bellys, or any other sign.' I know it would be helpfull in the cause of saving money ' if thats why
You put this contest up, I could think that its funny? A way to get the info on how to cheat in time.' And forget the science plod
As a matter of course, if you ask my horse?
He'll guess its par for the course.' Just make sure the burgers arn't part-sourced in any equine history.'
From a leg that was once hind.'
During the duration of a [expletive]
It's what I read while here I sit
And as I ponder, each page I swipe
The time elapsed until I wipe
All the noises and a sneeze
And the red marks on my knees
It's a throne from which I plod
A.K.A. the porcelain god
my husband drives an old man’s car
he’s an old man, so it makes sense now
but he always did drive an old man’s car
even when he was a teenager
He traded in a gorgeous 442 muscle car when he was eighteen
for a plod duffer than would have suited any ninety-two-year-old
I could never figure this out
why drive an old man’s car at eighteen?
Because it is comfortable, he told me.
In quiet moments
a compass points to the way
out of time's tide plod
that drags the mind to boredom
confined by reality
Love the pathfinder
bridges the gap to find bliss
beyond mind's limits
when you yield to what drives you
succumbing to true love's pull
Sub Categories
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