And I’ll lie on concrete floors
Gathering strength
To climb onto silk sheets
Thinking about dropped beats
Fight off the sleep deprivation
To circle the block, check the house and the yard
And I think of your handwriting and the lines on your face and trace your back like a map to the place
Where it’s warm and it’s dry and it’s safe
Tucked away
Every day
And maybe there’s more than we’re given
But when I just sit criss cross and listen
I’m Mary, daughter, John on a mission
Knowing what I’m meant to
Feeling like He felt too
I ran into you last week
It felt like wearing wet socks
I would’ve asked to come home
Just to dry off
I want your carpet between my toes
And the door on lock
I’d thaw by your fireplace
You would make tea
We don’t have to talk
We could just blink
I’d leave before sundown, it wouldn’t get bleak
We don’t have to talk
We don’t have to speak
Is the UK a democracy.? Or has it slid to an
Un-sound autocracy.? Where a sucession
Is handed down.' And this not soley of the
Crown.?
When did due proven process, and the peoples voice? Become trampled down.?
Along with freedom of the electorates choice.' How can any such rumoured move be
Sound, what former precedent be found.?
Contest: Favourites Footle
Sponsor: Karen Jones
Date: July 11th 2026
Mind caught
Deep thought.
Life choice
My voice
In-side
Can't hide
No sense.
Fog dense...
Cheer up!
Win cup
'Gainst angst.
Soul thanks.
Don't pout.
Don't shout.
Sad times?
Make rhymes.
Boost self.
Heart health.
Balm soothes.
Smoothe moves...
Mind caught.
Deep thought!
Start with the fracture -
the splintered thing lodged in your ribs
that no cough can dislodge.
Call it "inspiration" if you must,
but know it is just hunger
with a prettier name.
Next, the bones:
a rhythm tapped absentmindedly
on a diner table,
the half-heard melody
of a stranger’s laugh,
the way your childhood home
still hums in your teeth
when you say its name.
Now, the bloodwork -
verbs writhing like minnows in your palms,
adjectives that stick like burrs to your sleeves.
(Here is where you’ll bleed.
A poem is not a wound,
but the salt rubbed into one.)
Arrange the fragments on the page.
Watch them refuse to fit.
This is the part where you learn:
a poem is not a puzzle,
but the hand that shakes
as it forces the pieces together.
Finally, the lie -
the smoothing, the sanding,
the pretense that this
was always the shape
you intended.
Sign your name at the bottom.
Walk away before it cracks.
Idling between abstract and realism.
I strive to strike a fine balance.
Implicit trust in the process.
Wordku: 5-7-5 words
This land was never gentle.
Stone learned early
how to stay.
Wind learned
how to strike
and keep moving.
Some places raise
what survives
weeds through concrete,
trees bent low
by wire, by smoke,
roots gripping
whatever depth will hold.
Rain does not ask.
It falls where it can,
finds cracks,
makes a way
through ruin.
Fire passes.
It always does.
What remains is quieter
blackened ground,
green waiting,
the work beneath
still happening.
Even scarred earth
keeps going
ash becoming cover,
pressure becoming shape,
learning how to stand.
The person who makes an app that translates
real-time thoughts into words on a screen
will change the creative process forever
… for good or ill
On the outside I sit outside in the dark silence
On the inside my bosom is clamorous with
Painterly disconnections of truth and grace
… I could go on
I could go on if I only had that app
For alas, the sodden night is dark and
I cannot strike my thoughts upon a page
… without parched light
This truth is as literal as it is metaphorical
For in the process of fetching parchment
My mind will corrupt these moments
… these raw moments
in ever-increasing streams light beams
truth of cosmos where we exist
joy a fundamental quality
holding love’s frequency
to express harmony
removing errors
knowing rises
in silence
visioning
ONE
MIND
victory obtained
flow letting outcomes go in wisdom
Don't look at things now,
But look up the things after
The process and end.
My process is like dots.
Not stars, just nothing dots.
Rearranging.
Tangled netting and dragonfly parts.
Whatever I can grab and throw in the shopping cart.
That sinks through the tile.
I thought things were solid for once.
Then the holes got torn up.
And the dragonfly eyes too.
Disintegrated.
In such a poem which is made of sentences and more.
My process is like dots.
Spiky, horned dots.
Maybe a few blobs and globs enticing.
The end of a poem isn’t scary.
Or strange.
It's thirsty, but the end is that drink.
My process.
Like a pen that doesn’t worry about anything.
Nothing dots and dragonfly parts.
Wheeling me away.
Like they did five years ago.
The ultimate process is living life.
We can learn everything through love and strife.
It’s not just the content that fills each day,
Living in the moment teaches the way.
Find your true self and learn secrets untold,
Inside is wisdom and truth to behold.
Overcoming struggles helps us to grow.
Learning to love helps us go with the flow.
Created uniquely one of each kind,
How we’re created, not known to man’s mind.
Likely created from pure intellect,
Known only through perfection, I suspect.
A perfect design became creation,
Without a hint of an explanation.
Do not stare in unbelief
Or marvel at the moment of a miracle
Rather stand in complete relief
That energy has shown itself completely
In metamorphic perfection
Metamorphic elements in pure perfection
Evolve and become the seeds
The next stage of evolution
Be not in a state of amazement
But content in each moment of the process
There is strength in acknowledging a passion
Something the world fights against
Knowing God puts intent into His creation
There becomes a complication
Spiritual warfare often challenges
The closer we get to finding answers
"I feel like this is my calling."
Questions of what causes the stalling
Prayer warriors with battlefields in closets
God's intent never fails; we must involve Him
Teach them how to discern and learn,
Don’t leave them helpless to crash and burn.
Teaching them just content, they learn it your way.
Teach them the process of learning today,
You give them a lifetime of learning every day.
hovering in limbo
ideas strewn about
lacking sense or reason
images suspended in mid air
notions and impressions
floating and colliding
vague feelings in the raw
idly drifting meet their match
simmering a stance
before long ...
thoughts are forming notions
interpreting and framing
and a plan's laid out for action
AP: 3rd place 2025
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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.