A love affair with fingers
May seem dumb to some
If only their brain cells would linger
The depth of the matter plumb
Fingers play sonatas and arpeggios
Hold the spoon for to eat Cheerios
They fold up into tight fists
Unfolded, help to play whist
They tap out rhythms on desks and tables
Of so many things are they able
So, why shouldn’t we love our fingers
One can even be 'given'
to lunatic left or right-wingers
The order of a vitamin
Simply, life, a hair is for fun
Spoken worth, a willing shade to climb?
Into your lap, a wholer smile for any who would innocence
Spare me the details, in a cup of frequent spirits
High as a kite, with a reach to the stars, somewhere over the rainbow
I see your shared shall, if not the coolness of a remembered wit
Silver bells to come, an avidness of a problem we both know....
Toenails?
Simple rhythm of a bliss for ideology to bloom
Sakes without a created pain, to inform my clash with strength
Continue with a silent night, misery, promises to few, with soon
Could ink have an unexpected owe?
Silly accusations of windy deeds I have a saved repose
Lucky as this would seem, I have a question for adding a quiet mouse
Live and let live, or a sweet sincerity I should know, in the smile of a prose
Here goes kiddo...
Smile at the song of a fruity share, in a distant house
Walls of livid kindness, a God of asking a reason of a flower?
Lizards with a wisdom's tooth don't, promise us a spill of cleverness from Gods?
Today you seem so wondrous fair,
your lips and cheeks and eyes and hair
so touched with angel shining grace,
that I, poor beggar, take my seat
and wait in wonder at your feet,
to catch a glimpse of heaven’s face.
Christopher M. Swan, “Song of Susan,” 2008
Vaults of wealth, goodwill
Grabbed fistful, spill o'er like sand.
No one's worried still.
Sweeter are found fruits in hand,
And sour, higher up to fend.
Mocks a mocking bird:
Not grapes, sour seem ways to mend,
Change ere sour turns curd.
_______________________
Tanka (Senryu) | 08.11.2025 | bird, change, fruits, goodwill, wealth
Note: Wealth and goodwill when invested and nurtured would yield well. But man’s first instinct is to grab like a miser. For, grapes are sour if too high to fetch. A mockingbird mocks in this Tanka.
.
thuh artist i've been
since mine first
pencil
lover since she put
that
[X] in thuh yes box
With just one sharp look she dares and defies,
You still call a woman vulnerable,
She casts lethal darts with enticing eyes,
And still…, poets you seem inscrutable,
When conquer can she e’en gods heavenly,
How helpless, wonder I can she e’er be.
_____________________________
Translation (sestet*) | 22.08.2025 | poets, women
*Wonder, if it can be called a Sestetto Rima-- iambic meter with a rhyme scheme of ABABCC.
Note: Here is a verse from Bhartrihari’s Shringaara Shatakam (hundred verses on love and romance). This one is in Vasanta-tilaka meter. Here he questions the wisdom of some great poets who call a woman ablaa, helpless one. She possesses immense power to command over men with the beauty she enjoys. Even gods of heaven are no exception. How can she helpless ever be? Here is the transliteration:
Noonam hi te kavi-varaa vipareeta-bodhaa
Ye nityam aahuh abalaa iti kaamineeh taah |
Yaabhih vilolatara taaraka drshti paataih
Shakra aadaya api vijitaah tu abalaa katham taah ||
There is order to my chaos
an urgency to make things right
I have ambitions I can taste
dreams that must be set in motion
once I see the morning light
There is order some my chaos
a plan when all you see is madness
I fear that I’ll run out of time
I long to leave my affairs most orderly
A fine book they’ll close after its last chapter
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
Im free as a bird,
But i cant seem to fly...
Taking off is tiring,
Yet i am still trying...
I am still deciding
If i should take off,
Or if i should stay,
Forever wanting
Forever needing,
Just a little bit more
Than what my soul aches for...
Words
May seem to
Cut and slice
Or even break
What is already
Complete..
Until those
Words themselves
Appear as
Already complete...
I may seem as
Center of this..a
Conventional
Separate I..yet
I appear
Whether believed
Separate or not..
Belief and not
Are already This...
"To love is human.
To feel pain is human.
Yet to still love despite the pain is pure angel." - Rumi
There is a voice out there - above the water
whispering melodies I can't seem to get enough of
its longing shaped like lavender hyacinths
But it's so easy to sing
and so hard to drown
in the things you make me feel
Born to strive and arrive at your destination
Life will spin us around
We are born to win
Because there is a solution to fix the problem
It might not seem easy now
But I promise you it will happen at the right time
First, we fall
And then we get back up
Because we were not born to give up!
It might not seem easy now
But I promise you it will happen at the right time
We will face many walls
The storm will teach us to stand tall
As our character is stretched
We start to see our mistakes
Then we realize
Through our anger, we want to win
But this can only happen when
We understand our hunger for victory
It might not seem easy now
But I promise you it will happen at the right time
Copyright 2024
a squirrel acrobating air stopped and glanced back at me
shaping symbolisms within a nutty day, there for all to see
if one knew to look, a hair’s breadth sourcing angles justly
enough to squeeze through into realms ajar, he knew, and
Nicorates nudging me, the squirrel, smiling curiously, goes
Doves do things surely seeming so strange;
Can hear them cooing at their convenience;
Will see them waddle while seeking food;
When doing this they may be there in pairs.
Have to go to
compline service at 8 PM EST or slightly after
Is on Facebook at St Matthews Episcopal Church.
Audrey Hepburn
the darling of the sixties
in Paris making it posh and pretty
enticing her viewers to want to see the Eiffel Tower
Making the French appealing to viewers
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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.