Far right polemic is rehearsed
Hubble bubble toil and trouble
Insanity.. humanity at its worst
Together can burst their bubble
Or in the sh*t forever immersed
Burns and then turns to rubble
As damn it our planet is cursed
We need to do this at the double
Earth’s our home must be nursed
If not then we’re all in real trouble
Climate crises cannot be reversed
Don’t need a telescope like Hubble
The sea rises our cities submersed
Infanticide.. boys won’t get stubble
As all our kids’ futures are hearsed
Just hubble trouble boil and bubble
In AI’s lies we’re now all well versed
Lust for bust as cash must be pursed
The air is thick with dust and whispers,
shadows stretch like long-forgotten hands.
In the art room, the canvases wait—
some bold, some broken, all unwilling to be silent.
A sunset canvas shouts first,
its colours bleeding, desperate—
“I was fire once! I burned the sky!
Now I am nothing but fading light.”
A storm looms beside it, violent, raw,
its waves clawing at the frame.
"I rage, I roar, yet I am trapped!"
"Who will sail my waters? Who will drown in my night?"
An old woman watches from another painting,
her eyes hollow, lips pursed in secret.
"They painted my smile, but not my sorrow."
"Look deeper—do you see me now?"
And then, in the corner—unfinished, trembling—
a blank canvas breathes in the silence.
Half-formed figures whisper in the mist of paint.
“I am not yet. I am becoming.”
The room shudders, the colours pulse,
stories scream from their frames,
aching to be seen, desperate to be heard—
but will you listen?
Regardless of why I was dying, I’d stopped trying,
Courage dwindling, power idling,
Pursed lips, liquid and glass colliding,
Forming what I viewed as my life’s last attempt at hiding.
Nevertheless, chances were scare,
I’d decided to laugh at gods stretched hand toward my heart.
The unreceived care I’d pushed away through pipes,
The smoke and mirrors I’d danced around at dark.
Through all my pain and suffering I’d experienced throughout my life,
No one else’s soul but mine had the ability to tear me apart.
Through a filter,
I look really great
My eyes are blue as azure seas
The bags don’t hang down to my knees
My lips are pursed in certain style
And grinned with just a hint of guile
The brows are plucked and even toned
The cheeks are even high cheek boned
Through a filter,
I’m the perfect weight
I’m built to swing on Tarzan’s vine
In other words, I’m mighty fine
My muscles glow in suntanned skin
It’s good to see the skin I’m in
The stomach flat, no need to tuck
I look as though I ate a truck
Through a filter, through a filter
Life is perfect, never changes
Through a filter, through a filter
Constant as life rearranges
Life, a cardboard cut out me
What a lovely place to be
You just can’t hurt what you can’t see
this day is partly cloudy
like her mind
she can feel the waves
rolling along
like emotions
flowing strong
its salty spray
lingering
on half pursed lips
where passionate kisses
once did
a flower
tossed aside
on the edges
of sand
just beyond
water’s reach
a makeshift sun
within its golden hues
catches her eyes
she’s not picking it up
to play he loves me
he loves me not
she already knows
the answer
so she plucks
memories
instead
beside it
a cross
neatly placed
by a haphazard
breath of sea
she wonders
as she wanders
without shadow
towards the vast unknown
if it’s a promise
of better days
to come
new memories
to behold
a story
still untold
starting to unfold
a smile breaks
with the clouds
as she glows
somewhat brighter
now
11/7/2025
A fallow season, a time of trivial hungers.
Scissoring illuminations sheared his eyes.
Petulant lips pursed.
He laid himself down, yet again
covered himself over with a bone deep hurt.
Light cut and snipped
at the tangled hairs of a grey despair,
it swung him open
until a self-interned corpse flickered awake
in the pale eyes of cave bats
No longer were stone angel's graveyard attendants,
the world unboxed itself, he had been doornail dead,
now a gateway swung wide.
Was this life, or was this death by light?
Snails had left silver poems
on that part of his mind, he had yet to find,
yet it was near enough to dream of.
she had only asked him to come in for a cup of hot strong coffee
an innocent gesture in her mind maybe an interesting exchange
of thoughts on philosophical matters like love death and existence
yet once they had smoked a first cigarette the smoke clouds parted
like sea waters of Yam Suph in the form of spiritual enlightenment
candles flickered and incense filled the room with sandalwood and musk
serenity and pheromones diffused hardship fear loneliness and inhibition
passionate silence of words merged with quivering lips in fervorous action
and the pulse of their hearts raced in crescendo surely missing a few beats
velvet skin like cinnamon bark feverishly exposed unlimited desire
an immaculate conception of wisdom arose from instantaneous Karma
and twenty years later they still need no picture guide on how to make love
"the clouds parted like the pursed lips of desire" and that meant the world
"The clouds parted like the pursed lips of desire,"
drawing an ambience for dreamers to dream
with watercolor whispers and acrylic zen ~
amorous, magnetic, and achingly alluring,
dusted in mauve-winged wishes,
as the moon’s crown sparkled in gold…
O beloved crescent ~ that stirs my ink,
love me like sultry sea waves,
rippling through Cupid’s veil ~
a surreal sketch of sunset soulmates,
destined to dance beyond time’s thistles,
oblivious to the jades of jealousy.
Meet me where memories fade,
and pain is an unfamiliar poem,
for I wear your love-stained letters ~
breathless, spellbound, and intoxicated
by the scent of handwritten heartbeats…
But if stars could sing, and dusk could speak,
would you heed the tunes of twilight,
like rain tracing fire along your skin,
while night hangs silent, and the breeze unfurls~
a ballet of butterflies in sync,
with the pulse and kiss of lunar lace…
The clouds parted like the pursed lips of desire,
opening to a dazzling glow of molten fire,
as rays reflect to cover rippling waves below,
and like a fairyland, the colors blend their flow.
Dear Nature is the painter of the finest art
that marks its motion as it spreads and morphs apart
just like a lovely watercolor's subtle smear
captures a complicated vision, true and clear.
I wonder at the stunning scenes that Nature sprays
with fiery sunsets, spreading out their awesome blaze.
This mystery of what we see lasts a short time,
though the fine art of what we see remains sublime.
Seeds of desires were sown as our glances met.
Emotive urge started to flow though hidden yet.
Wobbled heart got confused to manifest.
No way ! Shy silent love to hesitate.
Not sure, whether you will reciprocate !
Better, you might approach, I’ll watch and wait.
But I chose you as king of my little empire.
My passion was piercing me to ignite fire.
Unable to express myself, but I’m sincere.
I won’t suppress ardent ardour more, it’s clear.
I must drive away clouds of dilemma entire.
“The clouds parted like the pursed lips of desire.”
the sky holding back its secrets suddenly, the clouds part
someone’s lips part; they’re caught in moment of yearning
Tight restraint release like clouds opening to reveal the stars,
waiting to whisper, even the heavens feels tension of desire
sometimes hold back what they long to share until can’t
Feeling silence listens to the heart holding its passion.
Occasionally the weather forecast can be of help: by poet
Does the sky and the sea have a mind of their own?
It was a tranquil day. I started the motor
Of my boat and headed out in the bay.
Suddenly all changed.
Sky became overcast and heavy.
The sea became restless.
Gulls squawked above me in derision.
My heart felt sick.
Waves pounded my fragile boat.
Would it take long to reach a haven?
I pointed my boat toward the bay.
At least, the motor worked.
Alas I was no great sailor.
The waves were against me.
I found myself in the sea.
Good thing I was a strong swimmer,
And the beach was very nearby.
I dragged myself up but nearly fainted.
Emily came up with a bottle of water.
She knelt near me and lifted my face on her lap
And washed the sand away and made me drink.
The rain was now only a drizzle.
I sat up and looked at her face.
Her eyes glimmered. Her luscious lips half open.
Impulsively I kissed her hard, our lips burning.
Instantly “The clouds parted like the pursed lips of desire".
Placed 3
How fortunate that I, correctly versed,
knew hand-grenades are passive. At their worst,
they maim and kill. But this is interspersed
with usefulness: defenders have no thirst
for carnage. Since the enemy had first
used violence, they had to be dispersed.
It fell to me. How often I’d rehearsed
in nightmares what came next, how often nursed
this killer in my hands. Like Damien Hirst,
I knew that I was certain to be cursed
by those who only see a shark immersed
in urine, not a work of art. Lips pursed,
I threw my bomb, and squatted, for I durst
not look upon the mayhem, when it burst.
I thought:
why not write a love poem,
everyone is doing it,
how hard can it be?
First, I need a woman
(let's not drag my wife into this exercise),
a pet dog or cat perhaps.
Maybe some sexual content
(best to rule out the dog and cat).
Once I wrote about a certain flower
remarking upon its sprays of golden showers,
some smart ass wrote back asking
if I knew what the term 'golden showers' meant?
Got me thinking.
Probably need romantic sensitive moments
under moonlit glitzy stars -
pursed lips slurping up sticky passions.
What I got is a nice wife and a dopey-eyed dog,
just about enough I reckon.
Deprivation of my rights and freedom
Bodily autonomy, tossed out of
a terrace window, seventy-third floor
of a building in New York that touches
the same ground I walk on, yet reaches much
higher than I could ever imagine.
I scream to them, giant politicians,
but the shadow of their business loafers
overhead scare the sound from my pursed lips.
My individuality exchanged
for a man’s practicality; it seems
as though they've had their fun suppressing us
Toying with my consciousness like a cat
praying on a field mouse, so innocent.
They say: so innocent! Could I be, too?
or shall I wear my curiosity
like a garment, like an oddity for
men to squint at, confine my mind and bones
to the idea that women shouldn’t
bare the decision of what lives within;
shackles on my reproductive organs
dig into my skin like the words they spew
from hot mouths, pouring into the laps of
women, alphabet soup spelling, “no more”.
Let us breathe in the possibility
of respect and dignity, the promise
of true liberty and justice for all.
Far too powerful, they fear, women are.
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.