When a thought provokes your poets' light
do not delay it is time to write
more than a note scribble away
jot it down on paper display
type it on whatever device
read it over be precise
while the words fresh in your mind
let it flow take a little time
Is it any good maybe not so bad
anything else you need to add
Change a word correct the spelling
let someone read it if you are willing
Read it loud listen to the sound
if the dog wags his tail it may be profound
Don't lose the poem thinking another time
could lose it forever a poets' crime
When you are satisfy the most
bravely on Poetry Soup post
see if anyone will read
maybe if lucky a comment leave
Why do we write poems goodness knows
we love it and pray our writing shows.
Power without wisdom
is only noise.
Gold does not teach judgment.
Office does not teach restraint.
A ruler is measured
by what he withholds,
not by what he blurts.
Racism is not strength.
It is intellectual poverty
wearing a crown.
To insult in public
is to confess smallness.
Even beasts know
their limits.
Democracy that elevates folly
betrays its own purpose.
When ignorance governs,
the state weakens itself.
A leader in a multiracial house
who divides by skin
rules already in decline.
Votes cannot sanctify cruelty.
Elections do not absolve vice.
A builder preserves.
A destroyer provokes.
When prejudice speaks from the throne,
the empire begins
to fracture.
History is patient.
It records
everything.
Back around Time's corner, no comfort
To concede looking in
On which buoyed plane, laughed up and down is
Past a street's re-mounting.
Nothing there but provokes of a more
Absurdness in a sigh
In what, weary intoned, out-whimpers all
On graveyard winds that die!
Yester-place shimmers. Only what gives
Its gold's foil-light suggests
To the Earth proper have not plunged these
Thunder-moods; lightning-zests.
Feedback,
A poet strives for perfection, with his work intended to reflect his identity. He wrestles with procrastination as he develops each line.
Each verse provokes reactions and anticipations, prompting him to debate or revise his creations, even when favorable reviews are received.
Should I present it aloud, or let it mature and invite others to sample it? A multitude of perspectives can be influential.
Unlike a Sunday buffet, his poem is not the main course.
His work serves as an ode to his experiences, establishing him as a prolific composer.
Author's Note: To be or not to be, that is the question.
All aboard the bizarre Farage barge..
Unless of course you are from abroad..
.
Narcissist catalyst.. old school fraud..discord twist..
Can't resist.. staging the raging red mist..
Fist of Mob rule tryst does persist..
Depraved raves..insist..craved faves..
Won't save slaves & knaves..
Hellbent they are sent..
To graves under the waves…
Foolish votes for ghoulish gloats..
Seedier media leaders lying..
Defying the dying..
Folks crying..ghastly ghostly boats..
Crude jokes delude..lewd masterstrokes denude..
Corporate rascal castle debacle floats..
On dank murky murderous moats..
Scuffles.. muffles ruffles & kerfuffles
Pokes & provokes just for bank notes..
The ubiquity of inequity
This poem or tome..
Every face…race should be.
Free to roam..
In this place..
We all call home..
old gold chocolate egg unwrapped from foil melts in mouth provokes pure bliss
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Swans.
So many times I visit sorrow.
I gave you my heart to borrow.
I've walked this path too much.
Evil as such.
Horrifying to grasp this love.
Blood covers the sin on my glove.
I feast a lot on pain,
Nothing but rejection to gain.
I love, but not love that should be.
I hide from that evil I so often see.
So innocent from the start.
Too stupid, too smart...
I cry for souls that are lost, mostly my own.
Love hurts, I should have known.
I fear the power of unity.
I crave sweet serenity.
The Heart of Lust, struggling to offer trust.
It conquers good,
Provokes evil,
creating a sensuous mood.
Why hide from power?
We are not the innocent flower.
Love is what I'm striving for.
Yet, the tunnel is dark towards that mystical door.
Sources of evil lusting for my soul.
Destruction their only goal.
Surrender to the unknown presence,
Feel it's dark essence.
Total destruction of body and mind.
Leave love behind.
Envision inner peace.
Embrace lust and ignore the desire to cease.
The truth is, we live a lie.
We must enjoy life, for we all will die.
"Long has My grace been proffered
Long has intercession been offered
Short is My space for repentance
'On my terms!' frames their resistance
'Tis not I who needs to change
Defying My terms will estrange
Worship Me in spirit and truth
Stop treating My words as uncouth
My Vineyard I designed to produce
But not all of My grapes have juice
These are destined for destruction
They refuse to obey My instruction
Secondhand smoke provokes My eyes
Their sacrifices only antagonize
Their outcome has been decreed
Curses will pursue their seed
Their toxic smoke is spreading
The effects of it - upsetting
False gods mislead and blind
Fulfilling the devil's design
Blowing immoral smoke in My face
Masking deceit without disgrace
They have earned My displeasure
I'll punish them in full measure
But My good grapes will inherit
As joint-heirs, they'll share it
They truly love and obey Me
Becoming My priority
I'll restore the Universe for them
New Jerusalem from every kind of gem
Justice and righteousness prevail
Secondhand smoke is a devil's tale"
alabaster aardvark allows
banished blue booby
cobblestone cracks
during Dubuque’s disastrous date
effervescent egrets
feel felonious and free
giving giant giraffe gratitude
high-fiving hilarious hyenas
illustrious indigo iguana
jokily justifies
kangaroo’s curious kindness
luxurious llama laughs
mangy monkey mimics
noisy next-door neighbor
ornery oustanding ostrich of Oz
provokes prissy persnickety peacock
querulously quarrels with quick quail
resident rodent rushes
sassily sure-footed and serious
temperate tarantula turns
under universal udder
variegated villainous veins
willingly walk weirdly
‘xciting ‘xacting ‘xtraordinary
yellow yang yaks
zing in zigzag zones, zeroing alabaster aardvarks
The heatwave is over, the skies are pale grey
The pouring rain hit the leaves
This morning provokes not to think, but to say
Something about the green trees
While they are still green, summer hasn’t yet gone
But there’s not much time left to hear
The hissing of summer rains, canaries song
With autumn it all disappears
And there will be new rains, much colder than this
Green leaves will turn yellow and brown
To be carried away with the wind from abyss
That lays the first snow on the ground.
prevents his victim from having friends
undermines her relationship with her family
provokes her into isolating from all other people
pressures her into pleasing him with disappointed looks
exercises his will through pouts and jeers
teases her into seeing things his way
excessive propaganda to brainwash her to his will
excited about his power over his victim
rigorously pulling her strings
Swaying Sensibilities
In the sultry summer nights, wistful waves weave a seductive spell, wet and wild, while whispering winds waltz with wistful wonders, writing tales of tantalizing temptations, tip-toeing towards a torrent of tormented desires.
Scintillating sensations serenade the soul’s sensuous sanctuary, stirring subtle symphonies of sultry seduction, swaying sexy sensibilities.
Climactic contractions culminate and course through our corporal connection,
Pent-up passions pour into your pulsating pelvis,
Powerful primal prowess, pervasive pain, provokes penetrating pleasures,
Our hearts pounding, peak pulse pressures, panting and perspiring; covered in coveted carnal contentment.
-Edward
A lit cigarette
provokes beginning of thoughts
rising emotions
burning sensation
relieves all worries and doubt
the rest up in smoke
I thought I had grasped it once, like the Arabian myrrh.
Then it started fading like dew before the morning sun.
Legends say that the musk of a deer dwells within its fur.
Ignorant knowing or knowing ignorance is soul-spun.
A tinge of infidelity is pleasantly blended.
Though it provokes the spirit, its toxin brings dizziness.
Our inquisitive questions, like childhood tales, ended
Our feeble thoughts, words, and deeds have been filmed with flimsiness.
Those little surprises with which we won each other's hearts
Those syllables of sensitivity that we uttered
Those thrill-filled waits to share our meals with flavours of all sorts
Have quietly demised as in slow death, mind gets fluttered.
Come, love. It's not late yet. Let's leave those nightmare memories.
Let's set new goals. Share. Care. Let's fill our hearts with mysteries.
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.