can unvalued birthright animalize careless communications
indwelling deflective dejection again
mistaking recency with indelicate internment
she is psychoanalytic
(Weekly Magnetic Poetry Challenge • August 17–23, 2026)
Sailing the seas on a lyrical sloop,
visiting pensmen in a metrical loop
with alternating laughs and sighs,
I smile and realize
the sun never sets on PoetrySoup.
In every time zone, in every land,
shining on each seashore's sand,
a seashell or a nautilus
sings to amuse or slaughter us,
from a poet, awake, pen in hand.
sunlit hues are kaleidoscopic kisses
terrestrial impressions
testing the waterfall’s eminence,
of impetus, of its continuous flow
unbroken by striving survival,
unfiltered obstruction
flowing along its perilous path
thoughts, feelings, & reactions
meandering, sipping Adam’s ale
moods unbridle as they manifest,
ellipses elapse, evaporate
lapping reckoning runestones,
monuments reciting otherworldly
phonetic pebbles babble
of antediluvian intuition
these stones summer bleached
warn satin smooth
at half-light, titanium white glows,
there, as dusky jewels
natural caressed water wooshes
v e
r i
s i
m i
l a r
rustling the leaves—insomniacs,
lift the cyclical immersive mind
rushing, whittling a way
recanting,
chanting murmurs that calm my soul
SUMMER SOLSTICE IN CANCER-:-
aestas
aligns
angular
barnacleing
crustacean
of the WATER SIGN
karkinos
crab
metastasizing
planets
retrograding
by the MOON HEGEMONIZED
simultaneous
celestial
synastry
cardinal
shift
It was created hundreds of years ago
although not on any map, yet not all know
of this pristine and unsoiled vivid venue
in spectral hues of fuchsia and raspberry art,
with compliments of evergreen, ever seen
under a dramatic sky of coral pink, sinks the heart
above, a celestial choir of sparkling stars
below, the steps of cobbled stone that steer
A generous garden filled with philodendron,
sewn are seeds grown in faculties of pure illume
wild floral essence sings sublime symphonies
No thorns that prick, no petals torn with pain,
they spark blissful emotions in her soulful eyes
She is in her seventh heaven, magenta fields,
moonlight conquers soulless shadows,
tepid air crystal calm is ever clear
tortious tears never flow as a sign of nobility
nor the elements be manipulated
Storms linger still, their spiral peaceful
where there are no scars, symbols of survival
from sins felt deeply by her descendants
nor nothing to conform against her will
yet not vulnerable, not evermore
For every June she visits the garden of Gemini
she is over the moon, in her forevermore
Passing moons
of shadows glazed
plaster,
looped in fresco’s
fringe s
y
n
t
h
e
t
i
c
s
n
a
k
e
s
inner cries
lingered,
fingers trace
imprints,
alibies,
I let go
the weight of worries,
go where music takes my
songs…
...and v e r s e d melodies
i am writing my poem for poetrysoup
with no clue what rhymes with poetrysoup
and classical music and sweet tea
perhaps to dispel my anxiety
an ocean is what I have to do
sinking
and poems are gulps of air
emerging
from the surface of things
they give me the freedom to swim
to believe and imagine
being heavenly, heavenly being
i am writing my poem for poetrysoup
with no clue what rhymes with poetrysoup
afloat in a beautiful ocean
hanging from heaven
Milo
de Angelo
meow
a doleful cry
What is it now?
I’ll ask, and I’ll say
don’t you fret,
to let you out
not just yet,
first smile
for the camera,
just one more!
I promise,
outside awaits
try not to look bored
I want to capture
that twinkle
in emerald eyes
I adore,
run ‘round
you go, with
the Persian cat
A m a r a M a r s
next door
Fluffy fur,
silky & pure?
Plush & dense
her undercoat layer
cozy & demur
a cute flat nose
that makes
no sense
with an aloof exterior,
at times
matted & tangled
O, be fooled not,
my M i l o dangled,
she longs
for love—
You got this
It’s charms
& smarts
you’ve got~
“as both this form and boundless space
cravings of ego negated
awake, vibrant yet nonchalant
bliss drenched heart remains elated”
—Unseeking Seeker
Feast and revel in ordo amoris,
the seether within stirs its godless bonds,
If not, what sings in harmony we’ll miss
thick or thin without sympathy desponds
We paint careful brush strokes without callus
slothful paint by number’s dupe self-spirals,
and not to fool one as the tenebrous,
whilst stratagem caliginous virals
We pen lucid images from the soul
without subterfuge there’s true belonging,
Clean and composed dignity merits gold,
gone—deep-seated universal longing
Emptiness stripped by turpentines amiss,
in fullness it streams harps euphoric gliss
Power forgets.
But the human heart remembers.
And poetry
is the memory
we share.
You gathered forty-one nations
without borders,
without flags.
Only voices
meeting in the same breath.
You understood
that poetry is not ornament.
It is responsibility.
Poetry of Human Rights and the Pursuit of Peace was born—
not as ornament,
but as moral labor.
Truth carried softly,
so it could travel far.
Different voices speak,
yet one truth answers.
Across oceans and screens,
pages move.
Ideas breathe.
Words find the hands
that need them.
This book does not demand attention.
It earns it.
It does not shout.
It remains.
Like kindness.
Like conscience.
Thank you, PoetrySoup,
for choosing depth over speed.
And thank you, poets—
from every corner of the world—
for trusting words
to carry
what humanity must not forget.
I come
to Poetrysoup,
Because this is where
The tallest trees of poetry
Grow and thrive;
Season in, season out.
Her fruits always ripe for the picking.
It is a poet's Xanadu. Well, mine, at least.
I come
to Poetrysoup
To plant my own seeds,
Water them and fertilize the soil.
'Tis a welcome diversion from
The hustle and bustle of my everyday life.
It's my safe space to explore, to discover, to create...
And boy, do I have creative wings to soar!
I come
to Poetrysoup
To sip her mouthwatering soup
Served daily by the finest poets she has to offer,
Known and unknown. I've read and sponsored
Literary masterpieces too numerous to count;
Many bringing a chuckle, a tear, or two.
Her flaws are sizeable, but I overlook them.
I come
to Poetrysoup
To learn from superior poets,
To read poetry and support other poets,
To touch, and be touched by,
To inspire, and be inspired by,
To inhale the aroma of poetic brilliance.
My home away from home...
That's Poetrysoup!
Here, you meet people you will never meet face to face
But they will become like family, and your safe space
Here, all can be laid out when you've had enough
And it will be received with so much love
Here, conversations take place through pen and ink
We are all connected with a love-for-poetry link
Here, you will find inspiration penned with love
A story you can relate to, or just a good laugh
Here, there is no judgement, I can vouch to be true
Just genuine people who also love what you do
Here, everyone is given a chance to bring their talent to light
I truly have so much love for this site
Here, you will find an awesome group
Brought together by PoetrySoup
Here, our family is not connected by blood, but a love for words
Shared through rhyme, limerick, and free verse
Poetry can be ... soupy.
... silly or serious, seriously.
... senseless, sappy, or sad.
... personal or preposterous.
... religious or politically motivated.
... timeless, or simply synonymous with the spark within.
... in style, stylish like all rhymey or VOGAN or haiku.
... infamous to fame unless “Anonymous” is your name.
... immortalized by the likes of Dylan, Dickenson, Shakespeare and Poe.
... inspirational or humorous, sound like someone you know?
... an art form or an ageless masterpiece.
... incredibly imaginative or an impression expressing the soul.
... a scoop of pantastic* poets sharing a recipe of poems from around the globe
exposing secret skills from inside their poetical lobe.
... about anything, everything, or nothing at all.
...
* Pantastic: (adj) so fantastic, the whole world feels it. (Refer to "Pantastic Poets" written on 8/3/2025)
I did not find PoetrySoup.
It summoned me.
For the hungry soul
is guided
by invisible hands.
This is not a café.
It is a temple
disguised as words.
Here,
souls do not compete—
they remember.
Mark Pringle did not build a platform.
He opened a gate.
A quiet gate
for wandering spirits
who lost themselves
in a loud world.
In a world that devours prophets,
he made a table.
In a world that silences seers,
he gave them breath.
Here,
poetry is not decoration.
It is divination.
Each Souper
is both pilgrim and priest,
serving fragments of eternity
in human language.
I stop here often.
Not to escape—
but to return.
To those still wandering,
starving in noise,
thirsty for meaning—
Come.
This is not soup.
This is remembrance.
This is alchemy.
This is home.
I'm thankful for our Heavenly Father on this Turkey Day~ I am thankful and therefore I pray—Poet
O Gracious God,
thank You for breath of life
for the beauty of creation
strength to see a new day without strife
with Your direction, and our appreciation
I am grateful beyond words
from my heart and soul
a journey once-over blurred
today we fill our bowl
with Your presence that guides us
the Rock of our salvation
mercy, hope and love so gracious
let Your wisdom crown upon
and Your peace rest on those who suffer
orphans and widows in their affliction
provide them with armor of peace and buffer
let it not be part of God’s plan to refine faith
and reveal His purpose and may not He send
man’s mistakes more traces of wraith
may our lives continually reflect on end
Thanksgiving
Amen
I Am Anaya
Thanksgiving Day
11/27/25
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.