I sit engulfed in silence.
I lie alone in the immutable dark.
Despondent or merely lazy? Just what am I?
Poetic ideas are empty, my pen is still,
I try to write about my emotions.
Nothing emerges. There’s only emptiness.
For all around is hushed and all is dead.
How oft have I yearned for poetry?
How oft had I dreamt I am wallowing
In perfect tranquillity?
Sleep brings with it a ghastly dream,
Going through a portal grey
Into a swirling, ugly, evil fog
Of another time, another world.
Hush, sirens sing a ghastly lyric.
My mind is roped against a mast.
I pass into a shadowy glade
And walk upon a pebbled path,
No footstep resounds back to me
No living thing is seen around.
Lightening snakes amongst the clouds
I expect thunder but hear none,
I see the water fall o'er the brink
No roar registers in my mind.
I wake, I sweat from brow to toe,
I try to rhyme; I try free verse.
I shiver in the heat of muted night.
I wander around my chambers,
Noiseless rooms, devoid of life.
I roam amongst my memories,
Pain grips fast my mourning soul,
Then, unashamed, I weep
And yearn......
Just for an epic poetry.
Placed 2
The little bride had a terrific marriage
The groom never felt any way but single
She reported about their union in gloriously complimentary ways
ignoring love letters left in her car by his girlfriends
The groom never wanted to be married
He felt roped into it, hogtied, lassoed, squirming and struggling
She bragged about the cupcake he brought her once in twenty years
She was in a marriage of one, defending him until the day he left for good
he stopped to think about his life
when he was stranded on the desert island
was his wife-to-be someone he could be proud of?
Why had he chosen her?
She never put him first
many times, she put him last.
He thinks about her children
They ridicule him
Possibly learned this behavior from their mother
The wedding is to be in four weeks
why has it taken him so long to figure this out?
who asked whom to marry anyway?
He sits in silence, listening to the ocean lap quietly against the rocks.
Had he ever intended to marry her?
It’s the man’s job to ask, isn’t it?
How did he get roped into this situation?
Is it his mother’s fault? She is an aggressive female
Like his fiancé
Will he speak up or be lead around by another woman?
One who is as pushy and caustic as his mother?
He waves the boat on when it comes to pick him up.
In horse gone wild, fighting off
What for its own good
With soft brush, once roped, harnessed
Is calmly caressed
See in street-roaming feral
Kicking and squealing
Whose own touch, once lured back there
God's; pew's for stall's care.
I aint no polyamory girl, I have my standards in this world,
my belief is strong, I made this stand, I am a woman, wanting one man.
I love your heart, the way you care, but this ole heart aint willing to share,
I'm a good catch, oh don't you see, Being a third wheel just aint for me.
We had our fun flying up high, through the clouds and beautiful sky,
But you blew it!
I gave my all, its a done deal, I aint gonna be no third-party wheel,
Yeah you Blew it!
Time together on the beach was fun, enjoying life under the sun,
You spoke with kindness from the start, roped me in then broke my heart.
I tried being patient, waiting my turn, but when it comes to her, you're gonna burn,
It won't be easy, but I will heal, while you're stuck on stupid, with lots to deal.
We had some good times, I won't forget, but I'm moving on with no regret,
It aint me, it's totally you, the trust is gone and now we’re through,
You blew it!
LOVE DERAILED
Whose unscathed heart has dared to love,
for to love is to feel the pain.
Is it true love that hurts not the heart,
or just two passing trains?
In the best of times, dinner and wine,
when love feels like it shoud.
Dither and doubt linger about.
That dirt makes it hurt so good.
Love isn't fair, tis all but a dare,
arrogant, selfish, obtuse.
The winners gloat only in the grave
losers go back to the caboose.
Old lines and hard times denigrate the steel
making the cars woble and sway.
Even riding the smoothest rail,
clickety clack clickety clack, all day.
Left at the station, the end of the line,
Infatuation's purple heart.
The grotesque beauty of attraction
tis the angst of most great art.
When pain's embraced you've lost the race,
there is nothing left to see.
Bought and paid for, gelded and roped
like voluntary slavery.
If on romance you've take the chance,
I wish you the very best.
End of the line of the honeymoon train
It's all down hill for the rest.
I crossed from Boston Common to the pub
on Beacon Street. A barstool, banter, beers
awaited me, for I was bound for "Cheers",
the suds-and-suckers landmark of The Hub.
But this was not remotely as I'd hoped.
So small and squat and square, and antiseptic!
A couple from Des Moines, and one dyspeptic
waitress in the "chow shack", neatly-roped.
The silence made me feel I'd interloped.
Twelve bucks a beer. As I morosely moped,
the woman I'd come all this way to see
(so blonde, so buxom, with such perfect skin)
was far too occupied to lunch with me.
Facades are only there to draw you in.
How ironic to see ‘chain gangs’
in elementary schools now
Little kids roped together, inmates
at asylums where madmen shoot at you
It all started with a project,
Though it wasn’t really mine to begin.
I thought I’d play a minor part,
Yet there I was, roped in—entangled within.
One task led to a series,
Replaceable once, but now I belonged.
Amidst PDFs and endless links,
Glances exchanged, where silence thronged.
A minor edit became an excuse for a brief call,
The urge to connect sparked those random reach-outs after all.
Pixel by pixel and frame by frame, the project neared its close,
Yet beyond the drafts, nothing deeper arose.
I didn’t expect an answer, but perhaps I sought to know—
Working together made me wonder if something more could grow.
After 96 pages, we lingered, waiting for something to unfold.
It’s probably nothing—just familiarity, this to myself I told.
After all, it’s easy to confuse closeness with something profound,
or perhaps it’s just me, seeking meaning where risks abound.
Yet the eyes whispered a different tale, hinting at a
devilish affair,
Meeting in secrecy, amidst a crowded room, unaware.
The old wood framed home stood stark and abandoned, a
shell of herself, where now new homes were standing..
Rotted roped windows wept with the rains and rattled and
trembled with each passing train..
The once solid foundation now unmoored by silt causing the
aged house to lean, a precarious tilt..
Yet inside her ancient bones still chiseled and grand with her
high molded ceilings and oak floor plans.
For over a hundred years she was home, haven, shelter, thru
cold winter storms and hot summer swelters.
Many years had passed and her families moved on.
She stands out of place where she once so belonged.
Every so often the kids passed a pasture
Where a divine farmer kept his sheep
One night they crooked themselves in
While the farmer was fast asleep
They rolled with the grassy hillside
Onto the gates of his wooly pen
With the cover of darkness helping
Except for a noisy noisy mother hen
She cackled louder, louder and louder
And their plans began to sweat
Still, they roped a baby lamb
That would soon become their pet
When their fleeing tiptoes met a hitch
And the farmer appeared before their eyes
He preached he'd sacrifice his baby lamb
If they pray for their sins and hear God's cries
A Capulet named Juliette
Exclaimed to her ardent beau,
"You're not to blame Montagu's your name.
By its nature a rose's aroma is sweet,
Though in nomenclature it be not so neat,
But wherefore art thou Romeo?
Why can't you be John, or Frank, or Ben,
Gregory, Justin, Bill, or Farley?
I'd even go for Joe, or Charlie,
Or Abelard, or even Sven."
"Hey, I didn't choose it, so please don't abuse it,"
The young swain gently pleaded.
"We must conclude our families' feud
If our love's to proceed unimpeded."
But those star-crossed lovers
Were destiny's fools,
They drank poison and ended up dead.
In that feud Shakespeare roped them,
When he could have eloped them,
And written those kids a happy ending instead.
I got some poems that I never wrote
About some journeys that I never took
And the fine hearts that I never roped
For not knowing how to look
I wish I could spin the time
Back to the day when I was born
When I was still at best of prime
And my fate was not yet torn
I would have written about a beauty
That was brighter than the light of dawn
That would have been my glorious bounty
That would have caused my rein to spawn
She would have brought me to a place
Where I could tame the time and space
For heaven is by her side
Where I don't need to fear the tide
I would have written about love
That's greater than the stars above
I would have caused her charming look
To grace the pages of my book
October 8, 2022
Prince of charm I could call him,
He’s as charming as the wind,
As attractive as the whirlwind
That carts the hearts of women.
He roped the heart of Sandra
On his way to California,
But the heart, so young for reaping,
Was not yet ripe for the taking.
He walked on clouds to Napa
To taste the wine of love;
Love is ripe princess Victoria,
Long-yearning like a dove.
His life is like a fantasy,
He fought phantoms to save humanity
From the hands of bigotry-
Long,awaiting to be free.
He sailed on way to Japan
To defend such sacred land;
Love that’s not in the right time,
Longingly waiting for the dawn.
Jingle jangle went her wrists,
jangle jingle rang the rings that swung from bell-roped ears.
Unless she shook like a tambourine, she could hardly be seen.
When in motion Bodhrán drums and pursed wind-blown pipes
marched upright, legs as stiff as Irish dancers.
Maybe fairies danced in her eyes, or maybe drunken dodgem cars?
Something was turning and bumping,
something was walking and talking, jangling, and jingling
upon a nervy trampoline of being.
Though fascinatingly thrumming with the sonics
of a madcap Calle band she failed to transmit, nor fit,
as if she had shaken free of the crowd to be this
jiggling skeleton key seeking any keyhole of attention.
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.