Pastel pages turn and turn,
colour mix turning to burn.
Foster baby cries its first,
bursts of today taking its turn.
Every shade will have its season,
every fire will find its reason.
Blister pack locked it in,
soaking up packets of sin.
Last moments in the soup,
regaining a sense to recoup.
Hold the light against the glass,
let the colours drift and pass.
Nothing owed and nothing lost,
only the turning, only the cost.
Past the future round and round,
pure chaos in master the sound.
Beauty in the knowing.
Everything showing.
I sense a life before
peripheral of present being --
Witnessed the Very Cross!
Yet to recoup Virtue's loss,
a soul injury indeterminable
Blessing, no crime lives forever
No sin a spirit’s annihilation
Wrong may bleed for generations
suture~ thankful a benevolent God --
“Eat not your own heart”
Conscience no judge nor final jury
God loved us from the start
His grace man’s inevitable victory --
"Naomi, sex at noon taxes," I moan
I pleaded for her to leave me alone
"Poor Dan is in a droop?"
She said to me, "Recoup!"
That woman makes my life a battle zone
In life's busy race, writing poems keeps me sane,
If writing is a boon, Poetry Soup's my bane,
I have many friends here who've welcomed me with joy,
Then there are some, who leave comments if they enjoy,
There are others, who never bother with a hi,
E'en if I read them, they're too busy to comply,
But despite everyone, my journey has been smooth,
I've grown as a poet, I think, and that's the truth,
I've received premium gifts, for which I'm grateful,
I'm glad, PS wellwishers, I have a plateful,
There have been times when I wanted to quit this Soup
Due to writer's block. I needed time to recoup,
But I crave Poetry Soup, I can't quit writing,
And that's why I'm still here, making soup exciting.
As if in thoughts the quiet road seemed lost
As evening shadows looked longer and dark,
Young winter’s chill felt like December frost,
On tall treetops Sun still looked somewhat stark
But smaller ones were all wrapped in darkness,
Grief-like I felt the sombre shades of grey,
Birds hurried home to their nightlong address
To rest and recoup, fresh for the next day.
In no undue hurry to reach back home,
And trudging slow I saw a sunflower
On a farm’s thorny fence muddied with loam
Bringing to mind’s view a bright face turned dour
Along sad memories of my sister,
Of sunflower looking more sinister.
________________________________________
Sonnet | 11.12.2025 | allusion, sad, sister, sunflower
Note: The reference is to my youngest sister who lost her husband some time back. He was a busy oncologist with directorship of a cancer institute. She too with her own work in the field of education, and only now the two had the time enough to cherish a ripe, mature company of each other to continue with their hobby of literary work. All memories he mind from time to time. Alas, sad memories leave a deep-set scar.
Unique undercurrents oust urban youth;
undulating surge unease surfing group,
accentuates; surroundings' virtue mute;
luck runs out, understanding, wouldn't recoup;
Cut up undisturbed, unlikely hurtful,
because: numerous arguments, pursued,
genuine ulterior grounds, doubtful;
thus, thoughts ultimately tuned attitude;
Quietude ruptures universal truce,
thus, unloosened corrupt accusation,
sought purely understandable sourced ruse,
though unfounded, but: subject's foundation,
Vague; uncertain prejudice, departure,
adequately neutralizes culture.
In the flowing darkness of the delirious night
I saw once my being sink with my essence escaping,
get dissipated in dissociative domain of ethereal ether
where I heard the sound of the distant bells toll faintly,
masking the music of my life’s violin fading away
in stalled time’s deadly depth of smothering silence.
That night I felt my frail body paranormally possessed,
the pounding heart pushing blood to the brain in a rush.
While with the swinging sense I floated in the thin air,
the vaporized eyes strained in vain to clear the vision
as they looked vacantly held in the helm of hallucination,
shaping the engulfing ominous silhouette of collapsed space.
That’s when I saw a pale figure appear as if frozen
in the mist outside the window open on the seraphic sky.
As the gloomy clouds cleared I saw in the moonshine
the smiling face of my mother who I’d lost decades ago.
She came to take me with her, but before I could say ‘wait’
I crossed the boundary between self and spell to recoup me.
Swindlers
I had been scammed, a woman on Facebook
Asked me for friendship
Told me of a website that could help
Tried, a picture of a well-suited man looking suave
Asked me for 500 euros, before I asked
What he could do for me
Why should I give you 500 euros?
It is my charge to help you recoup your loss
What loss?
I just know, he said
Is it no longer possible to trust any firm operating
On the internet
This demand for money before proving anything
Hoping for the best, is not a solution
Asleep not, my muse begins to trot,
Evoking whispers of willow
In my memorial mirage.
Asleep not, my concern is hot.
It has nothing to pillow
But your cold corsage.
Solely awake solely in wait
Whether affectional arrears
Find the atonement too late
To recoup your stray tears.
Half desirous half in despair
How my wistful heart dithers
When into thin air
Years of attendance withers.
Bounded by honourable hearts
Delicious dreams gravitating the mind
Gleam sunset patching life with brightness!
As autumn rain effectuates its pledge
While stars evince my inner desires,
I do believe.
Gazing at the blue sea reinventing itself
Advocating serenity in my path
To unearth calmness of life
I do believe.
With ecstasy and cheeriness painting my journey
Beauty of the earth gracing the eyes
Diluting grief to nothingness,
To stimulate me believe:
There are notable forces in life than hopelessness…
There is a rationality behind every drop of rain,
Love waiting out there,
And that I do believe.
When I perceive peace pledge – peace…
Starry sky hiking with confidence,
As I journey beyond the woods,
With adoration sanctioning the love of someone
Ancient mysteries concealing themselves,
Glowing recollections salvaging my delight,
Faith capturing the vicinity…
Sanctioning misty rains to grace the occasion, while….
Succouring me recoup my optimistic moments,
…. I do believe….
At the fair, they’d beckon us in, tell us that we’d see a girl become a gorilla. They’d chant, “Girl, girl, girl, girlilla, gorilla…”
Monkeying Around
gorillas dressed in leopard suits, climbing
the so-called “ladder of success”
hopping onto
tiger-rings of oak
they may be gorillas
but to each other, they’re monkeys
kids in monkey suits
paid in daily rocks
white-collar players
sans elevator music
back in time
trinkets laid out on twin beds
muzak orchestra plays
as we shop
or we scrawl up a menu
making sure the sister’s choice
is the special
always a crazy conglomeration
we were never mean
we just laughed as the other
threw the pillow
and it landed on the flame
oops
you can recoup
if that happens in virtual reality
or stop the action
before a catastrophe happens
no wonder parents like
their kids
to sit still
i tried dressing in a leopard suit
but i’m too old to climb the ladder
yesteryear, i was paid in “Parcheesi”
today’s chromecast: “Say cheese”
returning to the present
i tap the gorilla on the shoulder
“Stop monkeying around,” I say,
“Throw your grandma a great big kiss.”
Infinite and enticing is the world at large :
Full of curious, motley marvels that enrich,
Appease and alleviate with divine charge,
The eager, stirred soul at the varied pitch ;
Live spirit ever cherishes the ideal kind;
Pleasures of one are most often the pain
Of others, who choose never to dwell
Or step into any nook of an alien domain ;
The reaches of the heaven and the hell
Are but the concocted portals of the mind
Absolute liberty exacting callous decadence
To seek the needs and impulses unruly,
In vying with others, caused the providence
To intervene with the commandments holy;
From Paleocene to the space- epoch proud,
Between the stones and the missiles wicked
Strode all weaponry grinning with vicious hate
From across the deserts and lands sacred,
Came forth Revealers and Pathfinders great,
To proclaim, recoup and restore equity aloud
One might win, and with great gains too,
In all conflicts with Nature and mankind;
Yet with stretching arms and power true
How far will the real success go ,and find
Him as a victor in his conflict with himself..?
'Twas not long ago, I did retire -
Time for me to regroup.
And like a buzzing fly, I fell into
A bowl of Poetry Soup!
My IT job did not prepare me.
Artistically, I'm a dupe.
My reading list has only Dr. Suess.
Don't scoop me from Poetry Soup!
My greatest influence, I must say,
Is the brilliant Betty Boop.
I would surely like to swim with her
In some Poetry Soup!
If you're wondering, you'll soon find out
Just how low I will stoop
To find a rhyming word that I can use
Here on Poetry Soup!
Perhaps, writing poetry will help me,
My marbles to recoup.
If so, I'll save on therapy bills
On good 'ol Poetry Soup!
I don't just joke, Joe, I can write like Poe,
In one ghastly fell swoop!
Oh boy, did I really frighten you
On scary Poetry Soup?
If I want to learn about poetic forms,
Right here I get the scoop,
And I can get help and feedback too
Here on Poetry Soup!
I even found a collaborator,
I kept her in the loop,
We made a delicious recipe, called
Gumbo Poetry Soup!
Poems of others, also make it nice
To belong to this group,
And so, I'm a lifetime member of
Glorious Poetry Soup!
I'm quite surprised I've written so many
a few years ago, I hadn't any :O
Now --almost three hundred in my list
the "right side of my brain" doth persist
And it's all thanks to PoetrySoup :-)
(well first off to God, let me recoup)
But-- your contests! So motivating
positive feedback, so non-hating :)
I just moved up to "lifetime member"
these early years I'll still remember--
--all your patience and encouragement
hope maybe someday I'll be in print...
Civilization is crumbling
The Huns are at the gates
I don't know what we're becoming,
But I sure hope that it waits
The children are talking backwards
The leaders are talking in tongues
The fork’s in the soup
And we cannot recoup
The innocent days of our young
Logic treads so lightly
While knowledge devastates —
The foe’s at the gates.
The Devil’s in the details
The fat is in the fire
Up to our necks in saccharine and dreck –
Is this any way to conspire?
Don’t call for no revolution
No secret brotherhood
I've seen dinosaurs that have stood here before –
Their ways are gone for good
Common sense treads lightly
While arrogance devastates —
The Man’s at the gates.
I don't know how we got here
By what token or cosmic train
Don't know the story started –
In a garden or after a bang
But if we go and whimper
In the cruel hedges of deceit,
Then we’re just as bad
As the lies we’ve had
In our laps but could never defeat
Perdition treads so lightly
While sanctity devastates —
The end’s at the gates.
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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.