soft patter of flakes
drizzling frost on bare branches ~
young buttercups peep
“You are the sonnet I weave with soft swirls.” I spill ink, and your butterfly beauty unfurls.
Line 1 Inspired by “Leaves of Love” by Ink Empress, 1/24/2025
Original song: Jubilee Song by Jamie Rivera
It's a time of joy, a time of peace
A time when hearts are then set free
A time to heal the wounds of division
It's a time of grace, a time of hope
A time of sharing the gifts we have
A time to build the world that is one
Revised lyrics: Jubilee Song by Jamie Rivera
It’s day of happiness, a peaceful life
A day where minds being set free
A day to recover our bruises
It’s day of faith, a day of chance
A day of giving the things we can
A day unite together as one
Your back, a velvet crescent,
draws my chest like gravity.
I map the slope of you slowly,
each breath a question my hands almost ask.
Flesh hums between folds of cotton,
heat slipping into heat —
a kind of friction language forgets,
where fingertips write what mouths resist.
You arch, slightly —
a sigh or a signal,
and my pulse answers before I do.
This hush is not silence —
it’s a storm paused,
a fuse lit beneath restraint.
Even the moon blushes,
half-hidden behind clouds,
as my thigh cups yours
and the bed tilts toward temptation.
We are a poem unfinished,
lines unwritten but implied,
rhyming in rhythm,
spooned in syntax,
where meaning dares the margin.
Do you have skeletons in your closet
I have a few in mine …
They jingle, jangle, jingle
~ a frame for my composite
Every writer produces garbage, from time to time,
Stupid, embarrassing, awful stuff.
And despite what some poets seem to think,
Grammar is not a dirty word
Nor is it deadly to creative inspiration.
Revision is a process that has no clear ending point.
It is a difficult, demanding, and dangerous work
That is absolutely necessary
For a poet who cares about his craft.
But it is well to remember
That not all revisions become successful poems,
And also well to remember
That a work of art is rarely finished,
Merely abandoned.
clouded omens across code
the objective fact of the atmosphere here
starves even the most modest
ambitions of fish outside their home waters
journey of yearning mundane
day-glow gradients of green
scales gasping
toward the summit
regret etched in the eyeball
a penumbra casting its subtle shadow
lips rest in swags of exhausted lassitude
beleaguered
by their own bland arguments
against the reality
hung above a feckless mountainside face up
blind to the gallows scaffold
too much air in the jagged aspiration
of escape
the breathless canvas of a departing day
beneath and above
Intertwined, interconnected, and one
In this moment, in this place,
The world is just begun.
The sound of waves, the seagulls' cry,
The salty air, the sand that's dry,
The sun's bright rays, the endless sky--
All compose this seaside high.
Feet on rock, chair held high,
The body still, the mind awry,
Listening to the sea's sweet sigh,
Tranquil, under the sun's bright eye.
And as the wind picks up its speed,
The hair now tossed, the eyes that read,
The tales of nature, the life exceed,
The heart of man, through time and deed.
Beneath the waves, a world unknown,
A universe of life that's grown,
The sounds that echo, a glorious tone--
The life that thrives, yet rarely shown.
So let us bask in this moment's bliss,
The life that is, the life that's missed,
The beauty of nature, the world we kiss,
A memory forever, in hearts that persist.
Feet on rock, chair held high,
The soul that's free, the mind that's spry,
The ocean's embrace, we never deny,
This moment, our paradise nigh.
In the heart of the countryside,
There's a meadow that's untamed and wide,
Where the mountain frames melt and the skies are blue,
And the clouds whisper secrets, just for you.
The sun shines through the forest abyss,
Glimmering rays of enchanting bliss,
And the fragrance of spring is carried on the breeze,
As the wildflowers sway with the trees.
A verdant land where life thrives,
And the rolling hills come alive,
With hues of jasmines, daisies and more,
A palette of colors that you can adore.
Butterflies fluttering with their graceful wings,
Birdsongs chirping; delightful offerings,
And the hummingbirds, in midair they hover,
Sipping nectar from the flowers they discover.
At the meadow's edge is a pond where the frogs play,
And the ducks swim in the stream, all day,
Where the water trickles down, splashing against the rocks,
And life's grace and beauty, nature unlocks.
Latent in the meadow, the heart of the land,
Where peace, beauty, and love are always at hand,
With the countryside's soul, you can unite and be,
And feel at home with this paradise that's wild and free.
A life for a life,
far too many were taken;
Difficult lesson;
Two towers fell we stood tall,
revision of September.
REVISION
Can’t you see I’m trying to read?
We came here to do revision.
The exams are almost upon us
And I for one can’t afford to fail.
I really need to concentrate,
So please take your hand off my thigh
29th July 2022
Short Verse Inspired by Pictures poetry contest
Sponsor - Lisa YY
Link D
Word count 40
"Avoid being divisionary and diversionary: take Dominion for The Universe paid for that already"
Come take my hand
and walk for a while.
Bring your beauty, your goodness,
that strawberry blond smile.
To an open buffet,
a cherry souffle,
with honey dipped toppings
of laughter and play.
Where we`ll swirl and we`ll twirl
through God`s given treats.
Unfurl a whirl
into heavenly sweets.
An evening of bliss
not costing a cent.
Then lie beneath that fortune
...cookie tree of content.
Note to Sponsor: Sorry, I did not quite understand the directions for the third quatrain part, so this is now revised for the contest and hopefully done the correct way! Also revised some of the beginning part.(revised again Sept. 23)
I smiled when we lay by a brook
beneath an oak. There was sweet shade.
You gave me an endearing look -
so pleasure-sated from love made
there on the grass like carpet lush
with buttercups and trim of brush.
We watched the brook that murmured past,
which recently had rippled fast!
There was sweet shade beneath an oak.
I smiled when by a brook we lay,
from love made -so pleasure-sated.
An endearing look you gave me.
Since kissing stones along its way,
that brook, with us, now sparkling lay.
Sept. 21, 2020
For Charles Messina's Charonnet Poetry Contest
Office manager Mr. Honey Badger called his administrative assistant Mr. Bloodhound into the office. Honey badger was extremely mad because he looked out of his office window and could see that the employees in the office were whispering and snickering and not working. Honey Badger told Bloodhound to go out and sniff out what was going on.
It seems that the accountant, Mr. Rooster, and the receptionist, Miss Hyena were having a torrid love affair. Well, Mr. Rooster was crowing about it and Miss Hyena was laughing about his performance. And to top it all off, Mrs. Mockingbird was repeating everything she heard all around the office.
Well Mr. Honey Badger called them all into the office and sent them to see Mrs. Lion, the HR manager. Mrs. Lion told them in no uncertain terms that if they failed to cease their unprofessional activities at work they would not be returning after lunch.
Mr. Honey Badger never had another problem with his employees.
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.