On Christmas Eve, we rushed to bed,
talking of a picnic on the front lawn
and cooling in the sprinkler.
As we drifted off, we dreamed
of mysterious presents on our beds.
I woke as the sun began to rise—
the room was cool;
an eerie glow spilled past
my windowpane.
Outside, the world was upside down:
a white scene lay where green should be.
My squeal woke my whole family.
We ran outside to build a snowman.
As the sun climbed higher,
his carrot nose slid to the ground.
For a little while, we saw
what lived on Christmas cards.
The blue hills from the hazy horizon
undulated gently down the emerald gradient
of the rhythmic waves of the luring landscape
that carved the contours of the charming hamlet joyful
where my endearing home was once cradled,
nurturing me in the bounty of beguiling nature.
The fairy flotilla of the cotton clouds,
making seraphic celestial panorama, slid silently
upon the curved canvas of the sapphire sky,
where my childhood joy soared to great heights
with the colorful kites I loved to fly.
A gleaming stream of shining liquid pearls
flowed with flamboyant facade of silvery splendor,
bedecked our house with an ornate garland
of a lilting loop of embracing meander.
On its water I floated rainbow-tinged paper boats
that sailed with my mariner mind
to a distant dreamland of teenage fantasy.
The boats have disappeared with the ebb of time,
I live lonely with the reflections of childhood.
Not long ago,I used to write
about myself,the life I lived
life was dark, the soul was white
I'd be the best,I so believed
Played with words,called it art
sharp they were,truth they said
to the ears sweet, feelings they hurt
to the highest bidder,price they paid
Peak of Everest, challenge I took
Each at a time, I took steps
lower the grounds,up the hook
higher grounds, I slid the depths
Now in vain, with no touch I reach
Hear no sound, a muted world
A throat of silence, lacking peach
chained to earth, in dreams I'm furled
sunset tries to set in her eyes,
since the day she slid
down the cracks
of the windowpane
scrambling,
legs
unable to
flip back up.
She can't
maneuver
around,
as concrete
little shards
have
penetrated the nerves
in her back.
She waits out
for the hope
of catching light
one last time,
a dream of
greenery
a hopeful
vision
hearing
birds
whistling....
Mouth dried up,
can't tilt
her head
to the side,
where the rain's
getting in.....
the brown leafs,
rustle on in
keeps her warm
from the howling
winds....
She dies from thirst,
after the thunderstorm,
when it became
first light...
sunset dies in her eyes,
her little left foot,
gives up the struggle.
Is the UK a democracy.? Or has it slid to an
Un-sound autocracy.? Where a sucession
Is handed down.' And this not soley of the
Crown.?
When did due proven process, and the peoples voice? Become trampled down.?
Along with freedom of the electorates choice.' How can any such rumoured move be
Sound, what former precedent be found.?
Without a ripple, the world moved,
Heeded a whisper uttered into a secluded room,
I felt every last drop of blood drawn,
All the sketches shared in our times alone,
Though in a blink the tides turned white,
All the pigments burnt out of sight,
An eternal elegance is forever etched,
For embroidering a love into me
only is orchestrated in visual effects,
the moments we wove in the midst of sublime storytelling,
We dreamt of a hill we knew was so unbecoming,
We were bound by bare beauty and synchronized strength,
Yet so little to teach in each other’s length,
A short-lived hope
Slid right down the slope,
With no time to cope,
I guess this is why love letters come in a little envelope.
Faint gold dewdrop stream slid down my face,
branches creak whilst tuneful birds quite chirpy,
sun-blest hue’d wave a bright dream noble splatter,
cerulean veneer on sky has me now transfixed,
random green leaf cascade gulp by lithe gust,
I eschew blindness whilst celebrating gift of sense
masked marauder oozed into the night
hoping he and his shadow remained out of sight
he did not appreciate crowds, or one person even
he was a one-wolf, a shy guy, an introvert, Steven
Someone was looking, so he slid under a bush
To get him back out would have taken a giant push
He lay their prone most of the day
Until nightfall, he decided to stay
He was frightened by people, this scary looking dude
you’ll find someone you like some day, his mother said
but the masked marauder was frankly, not in the mood.
uncomfortable around humans, including the undead.
Kitty cat, your eyes glowed in pitch darkness
Like two emeralds set on a black foil.
You paced restlessly across the doorway,
With your tail curled at your back like a coil.
The night was still and not a leaf fluttered.
In your sharp ears fell the faint sound,
Of the nuzzling of fledglings in a nest.
Agile and alert you looked around.
Sensing, there was chance to spot a prey,
Following the trail of that faint sound,
Down you slid along the steep wall.
In a nest, three birdies on a small tree, you found.
Bare of plumage, they were like pieces of flesh
And too young for fight or flight
Their mother had sadly flown away
Never expecting them to be in any sad plight
You poised, rising on your hind legs.
With claws sharp, you got ready for the kill.
The fledglings yielded to your needle like claws
And in a second, all was silent and still.
It had no eyes, just bulk in the corner, swirling thick as oily
mist, smelling of rot.
I tried to step away but the carpet flowed like quicksand,
digging my heels in as darkness crept upward.
It didn't move, but suddenly the room dropped bone-cold,
crystals dusting the glass in serrated patterns.
I reached for the lamp, but the plug ripped from the socket.
I was left with nothing but the sound of my own pulse.
Suddenly it stirred, slid swiftly toward me soundless and a
chilling weight began to squeeze my throat closed.
I opened my lips to cry out, rip the silence in two but my
lungs filled with nothing but ashen memories.
Black slammed against my lids and my vision went blank.
I waited for it to KILL ME!!!
Then, I woke up.
something shifted
not loudly
just a thin bright seam
opening between seconds
a glimmer
uninvited
but welcome
like a thought remembering itself
today leaned
sideways
and the air
held its breath
a pale shimmer
slid across my hands
soft as dust deciding to glow
and I stood there
in the middle of the room
feeling the world
tilt
ever so slightly
as if it wanted
to show me
the underside
of light
There once was a snake
Whose name was Jake
He slithered and slid
And kept well hid
But had a bad encounter with a rake.
He went to jail
For killing a snail
Committed the crime
So he served his time
And lived to tell the tale.
He had too much grog
And got it on with a frog
But was later found
Living deep underground
Far away in a dirty old bog.
Painted a picture.
I thought I drew you well.
Mixed moonlight with memory,
called it truth and framed it on the wall.
I gave your silence a laugh,
your absence a pulse,
stitched constellations into empty sleeves
and dressed a ghost in gold.
Every brushstroke was a prayer
for a miracle to stay still.
I shaded your flaws with mercy,
highlighted your virtues with hunger,
until the canvas knew you better
than you had ever known yourself.
Visitors stopped and stared.
"Who is that?" they'd ask.
And I'd smile, because I didn't know.
The eyes belonged to hope.
The mouth belonged to loneliness.
The hands belonged to every goodbye
I was too frightened to release.
Then one morning the paint began to crack.
The colors slid downward like tears,
revealing the white beneath,
the terrible holiness of nothing.
That's when I understood:
I never lost you.
I lost the masterpiece
I made from empty space.
And standing before a blank canvas,
for the first time in years,
I met the artist.
Not the illusion.
Me.
Zoltar moved in quietly,
carried up the stairs by no one
I remember seeing.
At night, his gears murmured
through the thin apartment wall~
a soft metallic prayer
to whatever listens in the dark.
Occasionally,
I heard his cards shuffle themselves~
paper whispering secrets
it should not know.
Sometimes his lights flickered
under my doorframe,
as if he’s pacing,
as if he’s thinking.
One night,
he slid a fortune under my door:
The visitor arriving tomorrow
died twelve years ago.
Another one follows:
Your shadow will leave you
before the week ends.
At dawn, the hallway smelt
of burnt incense and cold metal.
His lights flickered wildly,
as if he’s arguing with something
I cannot see.
Then a final card appeared~
edges singed, letters warped:
Do not open the door
when you hear your own voice.
I kissed the rain
Falling in love
With its cooling honesty
Danced to the sounds
Of raindrops on puddles
And wet children playing
I walked
Wet shoes squishing
Bubbles popping from the eyelets
Running
I slid upon the wet grass
The roar of the crowd
Echoing in a dampened dream
I whispered to the rain
Secrets…never uttered
Asked it
My unanswerable questions
Shed unseen tears
Under cover of raindrops
The rain left
All moments do
Yet this one lingers
Because
I kissed the rain
And
The rain kissed me back
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.