If I were a cat
I’d scratch this and that
To me it wouldn’t matter
I’d pee on the floor
Chip paint off the door
Maybe jump on the counter
I act like a cat
Thinking this and that
But actions always matter
So now I’m a man
I sit with my sham
And I begin to shatter
Because I can see
It always was she
Left crying, dying, after
I found an old lantern
behind the door we stopped opening.
Dust covered the purple glass.
I brushed the years from its glass with my sleeve.
and the purple returned.
We used to raise our voices,
afraid silence meant we were losing
each other.
Now we sit quietly,
We had words,
but every word stayed somewhere inside.
The lantern whispered
through the silence between us.
Outside, the festival carried on,
while we stayed inside
beside the lantern between us.
The room felt different than before.
The lantern stayed on the table,
between us,
neither of us moved.
What we hid away
still waits behind doors
we thought were closed.
Those memories are old pages,
left where we last stopped reading.
So I hold it between us,
not because I believe
tomorrow would be any different.
But as proof
even after the hours
when our voices could not reach
across the room,
the dust had gathered,
but the lantern was not dark.
Personal Poetry Wheel Challenge
Challenge Dates: July 13, 2026 - July 19, 2026.
Theme: Relationships
Emotion: Peace
Color: Purple
Season: Festive
Form: Free Verse
Object: Lantern
Verb: Whisper
please don't let me down
AP: 3rd place 2026
From riven ways and lent-for heaven’s vault
we clime on breath enwrit with slender ink,
each word a sworn avouchment ’gainst the dark,
each line a stout denial unto Lethe.
Hands erst in thrall do now the aether shape
with sigils forged of cinder, ash, and balm;
the orphan’s moan, the widow’s fervent cry,
lie twinn’d upon one consecrated leaf.
No tongue herein is beggared or despised—
the hush’d confession, clamant plea alike;
the scripture born of weal and wounded flesh
doth pace as peers in kingly even-stead.
We sing of marches loos’d from iron will,
of Right relearning how to quicken fair;
for Peace is not engender’d out of hush,
but sired by heedful ear to elder griefs.
This labour is no idle courtly sport,
nor dalliance of metre, wit, and breath—
it is a synod call’d by mortal hope,
where Mercy mounts the throne of trembling Fear.
Here, in these staves, the world recalls itself:
that Freedom waketh when all tales are weigh’d,
and Concord draweth first untroubled breath
when every soul long mute is bid to sing.
My father was an athlete
And a soldier at eighteen.
He never told us anything
About the things he’d seen.
He worked at selling shoes,
Mostly for children, in a store,
Six days a week, a different life
From fighting in a war.
I tried to reconcile those halves,
Both aspects of my dad,
But snapshots with his army pals
Were all the proof I had
Of that early version of the man
Who never had the time
To retire and relax because
He died while in his prime.
He never knew his grandkids,
Had no condo in the sun,
Yet he was loved and that’s what counts
When all is said and done.
So Happy Birthday, Daddy!
Your four children have your smile
And I guess that’s quite enough for me
To need to reconcile.
From a distance it's all the same
the same smile and hair
I can almost smell the cheap wine
emanating through the musky air
like when we first met.
Except crisp glass has replaced the plastic cups
and the floor is pillows under my heels.
When we locked eyes for the first time
since what was meant to be the end,
a sense of helplessness engulfed me
emotions that could only be tucked away in dreams
as if I was staring at the reflection of a new moon.
Inevitable.
Inescapable.
Even after everything, I knew
and you knew too.
A lot has changed between us
but the love stayed.
“The Darkness Can Be Shattered”
by Positive Mark
My Father died, mid-argument.
An email never opened.
I hear him sometimes in the night, when I’m vomiting and groping.
Maybe the next rhyme will immediately restore hope, and
the darkness can be shattered by the ember I’ve been stoking.
This is a matrix, a puzzle with high stakes.
Where twenty of wood has you feeling so good that you cuddle with rattling snakes.
You’re numb with olfactory flakes.
Wake up with your face in her cakes.
A twenty year stretch, where you stick out your neck, as if life has but so many takes.
So tell me what’s real when you swallow that pill.
You came with a nine. Who you fixin’ to kill?
I hate to come off like my name’s Jimi Hendrix, but this is my hundred. I’m ‘bout to go spend it.
I’m taking this dame out to dinner and sports, while you sit in the dark, sucking down them Newports.
And you’re thinking of popping a round in your head?
I hate break this to you Homie.
You’re already dead,
like my Father.
The Ides of September registered sensation
envy’s violence broke out, over and again.
Remembering the healing after 9-11’s rage -
the difficult rebuilding of our broken nation.
Measures toward reconciliation would be a gain,
Ideas for this September, a return to God's gauge.
If you plant the seeds of love
You'll reap gorgeous flowers of love
If you spray the seeds of hate
Many plants and trees
Will blossom flowers of hate
And you won't like the fate
Nobody enjoys death and miseries
Ugly, dirty and evil flowers
And people with ill manners
Love is the answer
Hate is a toxic cancer
Be positive and make sense
All the time
Is obviously not a crime
Violence is unacceptable
Peace is divine and preferable
Please use good common sense.
Copyright © May 2017, Hebert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several books of poetry.
Let’s give it one more go—
Don’t let a good thing die so fast.
Don’t let one moment bring us down;
Together, we can beat the past.
Let’s try again—maybe we’ll make it.
But if we don’t,
I promise you this:
I won’t try to fake it.
If you leave me now,
I won’t last another hour.
I can’t go on living
If your sweet love turns sour.
Together we will stand—
Apart, I will fall.
Together we can run—
Alone, I’ll only crawl.
So—
Let’s give it one more go.
Don’t let a good thing die so fast.
Don’t let one moment bring us down.
Together, we will beat the past.
Together we will stand—
Apart, I will fall.
A soft breeze whispered
as I stood near a spread
of fields
where my heartfelt story was told.
I recalled the beginning.
The middle was unfolding
and I didn’t know the end.
My assignment
of controlling traffic here
would last two weeks
yet a voice inside
said this was where
I was meant to be.
O, the sky was so blue.
A construction crew inched
along the highway to fill cracks.
My father always said
what was broken must be mended.
I was reconciling with my past,
my memories carried in a breeze.
It was the beginning of summer,
I recall,
ankle-high corn reaching for the sun.
It was a farmer’s labor
a farmer’s pride.
My life was unfolding
a sense of wonder
as cars followed the pilot vehicle
through open lands.
The clouds above passed
as galleons of ancient ships
the sky an ocean of dreams
and endless tomorrows.
Radiating bliss of peace-filled pardon glow
forgiven heart beams with gratitude delight
countenance reveals conquest against sorrow
being reconciled* with God brings freedom flight
toward thanksgiving triumph midst blessings’ flow
propelled by faith for joyous reaching-out height…
ready to share divine love, mercy and grace
exuding worshipful praise throughout the days.
*2 Corinthians 5:18 And all things are of God, who hath reconciled us to himself by Jesus Christ, and hath given to us the ministry of reconciliation.
June 29, 2024
2nd place, "YOUR CHOICE P" Poetry Writing Contest
Sponsored by Brian Strand; judged on 4/16/2025.
I know that
I broke your heart
You felt a useless
Women in the earth
Because I was careless
I know that you
Loved me unselfishly
I proudly owned you,
Your feeling selfishly
But there was no point
To block my phone number
Your heart from the craving desire
That your memory will freshly remember
There was no point to ignore
That we belong to each other
The right couple, pretty image
Formed when we are together
I don’t comprehend why
Human beings cannot get along
Why can’t they play and sing the same song
Of Peace and Love together? Why, Why?
Why human beings are killing each other
In the streets, the straits, the strips and on the river
Of life? Our stay on Earth is so short, too short
Why is somebody bombing the sea and the main port
Which leads to the avenue of reconciliation and peace
Why can’t each of us be happy with a piece
Of the pie? Why are we killing each other
Over nonsense and things that we didn’t bring over
Over here and over there?
I tried, tried to comprehend but I can no longer bear
This and that, these and those. I cannot understand why
Why some groups want the whole pie?
Copyright © November 2023, Hébert Logerie, all rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poems.
Sometimes all you can do is rage,
rage against the machine, rage against humanity
rage against the way
decks get stacked and chips fall.
These are the times
for being apoplectic
if nothing else to purge oneself
of all the crap you have consumed.
And when your apoplexy passes
time to regroup with friends who hold you dear,
with dogs and plants,
and all the things that know how to take and take and take,
and then give you what you need.
The first lesson in life
is there are certainly others who love you.
The second is this life isn't fair
and never will be.
And the way this happens -
either by stroke of luck or curse -
is always beyond control.
But that doesn’t make it bad.
As difficult and unpleasant as it gets
it can always get worse.
And even when you feel you can’t take any more,
the thing to remember, that no matter how bad,
it can all be healed with a single breath.
(for Carol - 8/3/23)
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.