They warn about the mess inside,
The clutter in my head,
The sheer accumulated grime
Where thoughts are left unmade.
I stress about some unpaid bills,
Then let the dust repose,
A muddy swamp of open tabs,
And piles of laundry clothes.
I thought about a sandwich crust
I dropped a week ago,
Still lingering in a dark abyss
Where no one dares to go.
A soil of half-remembered names,
And crumbs of useless facts,
Unswept, unscrubbed, unpolished thoughts,
And overdue tax acts.
So if you say my mind is foul,
You’ve hit the nail right squarely—
It hasn't seen a broom or mop,
And frankly, cleans up rarely.
You thought I meant a different dirty?
Get your head out of the gutter!
My brain is just a dusty room
Full of trash and clutter.
Moonlight is shining
But everything is dark
How do I find my way
The moon is shining
In elegant white
That's me I want someday.
But did I miss myself
Did I miss her face
I don't know how
We aspire to inspire
When it's tomorrow.
Because my hair and beard are long
It's been assumed I'm dragging through a bong
Be they "legal" or illegal drugs I avoid I have been strong
From many years ago I've enjoyed a Beatle song
I'm a proud hippy from that era so the tooth is also getting long
I'm certainly not from upper class who think their poo don't pong
My attire out fashion between the legs or on the feet i don't don a leather thong
I like my solitude stay well away from the madding throng
I've enough time on this planet to know where I belong
Be careful with assumptions you just may well be wrong
invite introspect purposefully to dispute the obscureness
(Weekly Magnetic Poetry Challenge • September 28–October 4, 2026)
I shall not live to see changes for the better
But those who do will not notice them
Just as I did not notice the changes
Having taken them for granted
And yet, previous generations
Could only dream of such changes
Well, at least about some of the better ones
That have taken place in my lifetime
And even then, they hardly indulged themselves
In such irresponsible illusions
But I merely wish to say
That I care nothing for the future,
For the simple reason
That I won’t be there
Of course, this is selfish
But no more selfish than having a body
And a soul that belongs only to me
As part of some greater whole
I am of no interest, even to myself
Let alone to others
I have no need for lofty abstractions
To prove my existence
And find it valuable in itself.
Surrounded by my friends
But I still go home and start
Writing all alone in my room
Thoughts keep coming back to you
Each time I taste the liquor
All it does is sour my memories
I can’t see the good you brought me
Same with the others before you
I have to stop and look at myself
Is it a pattern, am I a bad person?
What’s wrong with me and the way I love
Maybe I don’t deserve it all
My therapist said I made progress
But I don’t quite see it.
Cause if I was the perfect man
I wouldn’t repeat all these mistakes again
I find it so hard to trust my heart
In anyone’s hands, maybe I’m the problem
But I still crave physical attention
Without having to go deeper
Where do I go from here?
Should I try again
Or lock myself in my shell
Maybe something fake is what I need
I’m trying to unlearn all the things
That hurt me and lead me to hurt others
So if it means to block off love
I’d do it until I know I’m worth loving
Great poets need not worry.
Self-written dissertations or poems
Always lack heart, soul and harmony.
Self-written lyrics or poems
Are the products of raw science,
Not fine arts and literature.
Great poets, with wit, humor, and nature,
Have a divine style and an astute common sense.
Self-written poems lack the zeal and the spirit
That only human beings can display or exhibit.
Great poems come from the core of the heart,
Great poems come from the deep abyss of the soul.
Believe it or not, a machine can play a major part,
However, a masterpiece can only be conceived by the role
That a genius-artist and a scientist can play to end-up at an evolution.
Self-written poems lack the beauty and the innate composition.
P.S. This poem was written and revised before A.I.
Copyright © January 2020, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several poetry books.
All hail the sovereign individual
The one and only
Self who is themself
Not their race, or sex, nationality
Or any other kind of identity
Just themselves, being themselves
Being consistently what they are
Even when they change.
Hail the individual,
Hold them high, give them air
Because they are an endangered breed.
(9/28/26)
We have seen our true form as living light,
outside time, as awareness self-aware,
dwelling in peace, lustre soft white yet bright,
fabric of consciousness, naked and bare.
Jiva as body-mind, Self as Atma,
are both us, immanent and transcendent,
birthed by light of God or Paramatma,
our innate being-ness, bliss resplendent.
The truth eternal becomes apparent,
when concepts we hold onto are released,
that as vaporised presence transparent,
the veil is pierced when thought ripples have ceased.
With cessation as our meditation ~
We become the flame, the bliss pulsation
Not of Earth's people.
I am simply an alien.
Body so broken
For being my own person.
I'll always be outspoken.
Endearing Parasite
by Frank Daub
Delicious insincerity,
dear friend.
The fear is about an end.
Though in clarity –
regarding lasting –
fasting briefly makes all new –
again.
In dreams I wander worlds unknown,
In life somehow, feel more alone.
Shadows dance with leaping flame,
In this land that knows no name.
I come to dance among the stars,
Forgetting sorrow, pain, and wars.
Leave earthly worries far behind,
Enter the realm within the mind.
Here I feel the Spirit moved,
Here my worth need not be proved.
I exist and my soul lives free,
Chains and flesh cannot bind me.
Discarding every insult and shame,
Finding peace in mine own name.
Feet on earth and mind in sky,
They cannot break the truth with lie.
Soaring high and diving deep,
Each moment a treasure that I keep.
Leaves rustle and creatures run,
Wind beneath a most distant sun.
At five, whole world a wondrous gleam,
A bottomless, bright, benign dream,
Each step a secret, shine so bright,
Moments like fleeting sunbeams’ light.
Fifteen years, a smooth shifting tide,
Where fervent feelings faintly hide,
A quest for self, a whispered plea
Of who I am eternally.
Thirty now, the path quite defined,
With purpose clear and heart entwined,
A steady stride, a settled grace,
Carving own dreams in time and space.
At fifty, wisdom starts to bloom,
Dispelling shadows, chasing gloom,
Reflecting past sweet or sour years,
In the span of time, without fears.
At seventy, some desired rest,
Where peace and quietness are blessed,
A life well lived, a journey's end
On loved ones, memories, depend.
INTO THE LIGHT
Out of the
darkness of night,
the horizon has dawned.
Soon, I and all glowed
In reality’s delight:
God having me witness
Another day’s light:
Dawned with His
Divine wisdom
And guidance.
I am a daughter.
I am a wife.
I am a mother.
Yes, I am a woman—
the creator of life,
the one who gives birth to an entire generation.
But beyond these relationships,
do I have an identity of my own?
As a daughter, I am expected to sacrifice.
As a wife, I am expected to compromise.
As a mother, I am expected to give endlessly.
Everyone sees the relationships I carry,
but who sees the woman behind those relationships?
Why must my identity always begin with
“someone’s daughter,”
“someone’s wife,”
or “someone’s mother”?
I was not born merely to fulfil roles.
I was born to live, to dream, to choose,
and to create an identity of my own.
It is time for women to step beyond the boundaries
that society has created for them.
Let us recognise our own worth,
raise our voices,
follow our dreams,
and build our own identity.
I am a woman.
I am not someone’s shadow.
I am an identity in my own right.
And now, it is time for every woman to say:
“Know me not only by the relationships I carry,
but by the person I am.”
Self Categories
Read wonderful self poetry on the following sub-topics:
acceptance, confidence, dear, determination, esteem, future, harm, hate, identity, inner, love, note to, personality, reflection, sacrifice, worth,
and more.
Definition | What is Self in Poetry?
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.
Related Poetry Forms
automatic, ascetic, autonomous, narcissistic, subjective, autogenous, automatous, autonomic, endogenous, narcistic, myself, character, individuality, person, ego, identity, personality, narcissism, personal, egocentrism, psyche, individual, identical, own, selfhood, substantive, individualization, oneself, proprium,