Some might say,
Evidence was first found,
Outside during the day,
As shadows moved round.
Others could contend,
That it started as a force.
Coreward extend,
Causes spinning on course.
People with crops,
Would look to the sky,
Pull out all the stops,
To harvest a ready supply.
Crew on ships,
Gazed up at night,
Saw way Ursa Major dips,
To find the guiding star's light.
The North Star becomes the center,
Half math game overhead,
Orient the circle,
And answer be read.
Looks of a celestial body,
Can be observed,
Unless the weather is shoddy,
And sky libations will be served.
A container is used,
With something inside,
Keeping players amused,
And rules abide.
Sometimes our perception,
Is altered by the scene,
Invokes more reflection,
Or feels like a dream.
Sometimes it goes fast,
Sometimes it feels like forever,
Having a blast,
Or an arduous endeavor.
Many words to measure,
Other languages and ways to represent,
Covet it like a treasure,
So you will not later repent.
Why is there silence so early this night?
No chirping, no hawking, all is not right.
The sunset still offers ambient light.
Long silence is eerie, for there's no sight
of anything moving around, despite
the recent day hours, when sounds gave delight.
I now make some noise, perhaps to incite
some way to move them to run or take flight,
and pull out my whistle, blare it with might!
Up stands a bear with deep roars- what a fright!
“The only thing that can save the world is the reclaiming of the awareness of the world. That’s what poetry does.” — Allen Ginsberg”
What drives them to put pen to paper?
To be famous is that their caper?
The world to change?
Tell a story so strange?
Is it a more personal flaw?
Drawn the short straw?
Life made them feel dismay?
They have to live this way....
Prone to despair
Pull out their hair?
Caught in a landslide
Can't escape the ride...
They can analyse
Maybe even surprise
Put words to their feelings
They may even do healings
A pen you did choose
Your ideas more than clues
Why does a poet write
Because they can..... alright
space policeman Sam knew the creature was a possible alien that day
But he was having a chocolate malt shake, so what the hey
Besides, he was young, and looked harmless, this space boy
Sam watched him open cracker jacks and pull out a toy
He offered it to Sam, which showed that he was polite
How could he put this young alien into jail that night?
Sam and the soda jerk gave each other a weird look.
Finding this sweet alien lad here, had Sam truly shook.
I pull out my watercolours
to try to paint what I’m feeling
Vibrant red stained by brown
Bright yellow blemished by grey clouds
But the blue, isn’t blue enough
No matter how much i try
Should mix in my tears
Or breathe in a sigh ?
My colours comes to life
Dripping onto my fingertips
As my hands sob onto the canvas
Puddles start to ebb and flow
The red is shocked by electrifying oranges
And seemlessly the ocher dances
The emotions glide through the water
Rippling in ever corner
My paintbrush soaks up the shadows hidden in
The umbra of my nights
The ones with which I put up a fight
The vista of shades become a philharmonic conversation
A babble of acute sensations
Dribbles of passionate abstractions
Mirroring my great sollitude
They wash out into the pot
and merge into a muc of liquidifyed spleen,
Gunky disquietude ready to be pored out of me
As i stain the paper and myself too
I giggle because now I really am blue
These stains stick to me
And now you can see
The true colour of my melancholy
We all have cracks upon our outer shell
And there within a lonely weed may dwell.
It holds together mind and body well
So, when we tend to split no-one can tell.
But if we open up our cracks to show
A bleeding heart that only we can know.
The weed may start to wilt so very low
And we may find it will no longer grow.
So, never let your cracks get far apart
Just bind them with the love within your heart.
Pull out the lonely weed make a new start
Don't let the weed become your state of art.
I listen
From my seat on my pebble
Taking in the sea of galaxies
Only dots to me as they speckle the Black
I listen
For a how, a what, a why, a when
A calling, a comfort, or clarity
There’s a pull out there
From the light years away
From an anchor or lure I couldn’t say
I think
I think I think I think
Too much
But the Black from closed eyes tastes sweet
Familiar
And when the lights from my pebble fade out
It’s quiet
I can hear it now
What do
You
Value
Stored inside
A vault
Buried deep in
My heart
I hold treasures
Notes
Cards
Letters
Written by the people
I love The most
When life is
A steamroller
I dig deep inside
And pull out
Your love
Like a crust of bread
It keeps me
Going
Helps me
Claw my way
Out of
The hole
I looked out the window, and I saw a cloud,
as I sat at my desk, and wondered aloud,
"What will I do for this fellow named Bartley?"
My brain is all used up - well, at least partly.
My thinker was once quite good at thinking,
but lately, I notice, it's started to stinking.
I got so nervous, I started to bite
all of my fingernails, both left and right.
I bit them all down to small tiny nubs.
Now how can I write with ten little stubs?
Next, I decided to pull out all my hair,
but on top of my head, I found nothing there.
In order to write, I got an strange inkling,
I needed an electrocardial zinkling,
but zinklings, I found, cost quite a lot,
twenty five cents more than my pockets have got.
I'm sorry my thinker thunked out. I sure am.
It has all the sense of green potatoes and ham.
If only I could have written more smartly.
Well, here is my poem, Benjamin Bartley.
My Aunt Ruby was a bingo fanatic.
Every Friday she'd get her hair done ~
a visit to the 'Strands To Go' salon.
She left feeling like a graceful queen.
Friday nights were sacred at the bingo hall.
She'd pull out her money from her purse
and buy as many bingo cards as possible
then head to her favourite table to wait.
She'd light a cigarette to calm the nerves
and say a little prayer hoping to win big.
Someone had to win the jackpot ~ why not her.
She prepared her dabber and braced herself.
The bingo caller was always right on time.
Her cards always ready and perfectly aligned.
She waited with bated breath for numbers called
loud and clear as they possibly could be.
And so it was that every week on Friday,
Aunt Ruby spent her time doing what she loved best:
smoking, dabbing, and chatting among other devotees
... even coming home odd times with some cash winnings.
AP: 1st place 2025
Flowers fade and decay through wintry hours - waiting for rebirth
Quote by Constance La France
Forces of nature cannot tame.
As nothing daily stays the same
Our earth has colours rich beyond compare.
With hidden treasures rare.
Life’s tapestries all woven fine.
Through one we know who is divine.
Each thread depends upon the Master’s loom.
With every season’s bloom.
Summers sun brightens up our skies.
Autumn leaves fall before our eyes.
Winter decays, before each Springs rebirth
All colours of our earth.
We all have cracks upon our shell.
But then within strong daisies dwell
Pull out the weeds and make a brand-new start.
A revised state of art.
We cannot stop each season’s grace.
What shall befall us, must embrace.
These simple threads will bind our spirits too.
In perfect rendezvous.
Lets Date
Let's go
Somewhere
Surprise me, I don't care
Let me tell you what you ought to do
Put some thought into
Thought into
Where we going
Pull out the little things
Keep me glowing ??
And smiling
We a vibe
Steady vibing
Wave ?? your hand if you can relate
What it feels like
When you go on a date
Lets create
New memories
Let's go on a date
I know you're feeling me
(Repeat 1x)
Let's grab a sheet a paper
Little notes
I want to date ya
Would you go out with me
No or yes
Getting creative I see
You're trying to impress
You are doing amazing
You are what I'm wishing for
Chivalry not dead
He likes to open doors
He likes to do the things I like
He really likes to excite
It's vice versa
I'll do the same to
That's what people do
When he into me
And boy I'm into you
Lets create
New memories
Let's go on a date
I know you're feeling me
(Repeat 1x)
Let's vibe
Let's chill
Let's talk
Tell me how you feel
(Repeat 1x)
Lets create
New memories
Let's go on a date
I know you're feeling me
(Repeat until chorus fades)
Written by Concetta Hardnett
09/29/2025
our song is me writing-
"poetry about those stolen stares
songs about that beaming smile
and even a whole film script about it"
the ink of my pen bleeds in pink
but later turns to gray
i weave our memories as part of a big story
with a climax in which you
devoured me with a kiss
but the falling action sets me adrift
to wander on the seas wide
with no cure to this disease
our song is a song in which-
"nothing happens but desertion comes in light
to pull out my nerves and haunt my midnight
i lose my sanity and cry till my eyes starts to bleed"
You leave the window slightly open for me, knowing that I love the smell of rain,
those mornings when the sun hides and the world seems washed by dreams.
You give me a half-smile when you find a strand of hair on your sweater,
and you don't brush it off, keeping it as a silent sign of my presence.
You adjust my collar before we go outside, pretending it's a casual gesture,
but your touch is so full of care that it warms my silent soul.
We argue by the shelves in the supermarket about which bread is better,
knowing we'll take both anyway, to enjoy the shared taste.
Your sleepy voice at 3 a.m. asks if I locked the door,
and then you pull me into your arms before I can answer, calming my restlessness.
Love doesn't lie in the words you say, but in the chair you pull out,
before I reach the table, like a place prepared with an open heart.
Love is when you pour my tea without asking how many spoons of sugar,
you just know, you feel, and in this silence, we find ourselves, like in a gentle spell.
In the small details, we find magic, that essence that binds souls,
and in every simple gesture, love is born, a silent story of happiness.
but there is more of us.
Pull out ever Tick
Four letters
..nickname of royal prince
….P…..E…..then something ….O
Doh the clue
America seriously I wish we could help
but we have our own Loonies to deal with
What rhymes with finesse
Every lioness
I think I would have been a great God
……well above average
I mean you say you can’t see him
2000 odd years ago all he could burn was a bush
Look at him know
And his son hasn’t left the house since
well we did put nails in him
Does a Jesus wig get made with criss cross hairs
We should start a trend
Guessing which sexual law
By which actor
While the director took a back handed
I would give dogs 10 lives
Ha cats you only have 9
One more word dog and it’s going to single
Dig gits they make me s………..
for at least a mile
What if there is nothing left to fix
My stare can look like a glare
But trust me I might be a wear/where/wer
wolf over there
Watch I ensnare
Arming every bear
Watch the flare
Bboy in the air
Only lacking
the ability
to
care.
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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.