Sometimes wind is our fluted friend
Puffing sails and dispersing seed
Sweeping life to unknown isles and continents
Offering up free cups of electricity.
Wind can also be a red-caped bull
snorting souls like snot into hell or heaven.
as they
understand and
drive snorting
oxybenzene not
greatly unawares
of lightheaded
reflective breath
a spiteful
zombie confronting
again brainwashed
beret sociopath
unfalteringly abusive
handicap boloney
that parade
marches gloatingly
gutenberg freebee
would gratify
faulty ghost
with nonsweet
buttercup ooze
always demonstrate
rinse towel
you encounter
this reschedule
(Weekly Magnetic Poetry Challenge • September 21–27, 2026)
I am an introvert freebee snorting buffalo
brainwashed zombie always confronting your conspiratorial
faulty gloatingly unpleasing uninquiring sociopath
as she was my reflective lyrate queen
we understand misleadingly but blamable thoroughgoing flightiness
through unfalteringly our spiteful reminiscence .
never again will these marches tactility concenter
unawares they signal the latex submarine
to drive northwards into reactive ooze ,
were he could demonstrate cryosurgery at bicuspid biont
those cookstove are a bannerlike varicosity
is that abusive bovid breath idiosyncratic ?
you would coolly autoclave his unmodifiable buttercup !
(Weekly Magnetic Poetry Challenge • September 21–27, 2026)
A QUATRAIN of ALLITERATIVE ATTRIBUTES
bumpkinly buttercup bannerlike bovid boloney breath brainwashed at the bibliothecal
reschedule recapitulate reactive reignite reflective radar repercussion
spiteful snorting sociopath signal schematically scare submarine
understand unmodifiable uninquiring uniformize unfalteringly unawares unsay unpleasing unreadably
a brainwashed ghost and zombie
bumpkinly encounter snorting buffalo.
repercussion!
Life is a bullfight
replete with an ugly, snorting beast,
with murderous eyes and sharpened horns,
trying relentlessly to kill you
in the most painful way possible
while your friends and family in the arena,
drooling, laughing, and cheering,
eagerly await the outcome.
Gloomy-green, forested
Man, these are the haunts
Of what even now is
Leaping, while unsheathed, at
But strange food to it!
No less, for a creature
Friend, snorting, grunting
Wild; for the sound it makes.
Vain; in hoofing away.
Trying to outwit!
Oh no.' Is he snorting snow.?
ben your mental bar; now is so low.'
He' gives me this crick,
My neck starting to click.'
Ban the quackster, he really; must go'
Right now reside; millions of files,
Where there should be no evil wiles
Yet it appears there? Is much rorting.!
Also rife cocaine snorting
With the protection; of most evil viles.!
All such in congress's much revered seat.?
There law-takers! Are enact-ing the delete..
Of all evils; squirming like real weevils'
(To forge false history?) Most incomplete
Just, more palatable, to folk on the street.?
Written By: D. Collins 2/3/26
Nixon's goons got caught by taking chances.
Now the wealth has spread to all the branches.
The judicial, executive, and legislative wimps.
Are sworn foot soldiers of "Big Daddy Pimp".
They fall in line like taking cattle to feed.
The Constitution is a thing they do not need.
Our public figures have become goonerized.
Snorting a drug that has them mesmerized.
Fooled by the marble and gold-flaked trim.
They've sold out the country we're living in.
November elections can't get here soon enough.
When we show we're sick and tired of this stuff.
Bulls are forceful, mean, snorting and focused on the person or thing they want to charge or destroy.
My first bully as a child was an unhealed parent.
No difference really, except that one is very large with horns and is an animal, that's right, no difference.
As an animal lover, I don't blame the bull, he was born with instincts, naturally instilled in him from birth.
As a child I was born with instincts as well, to survive by bonding with my parents.
What happens when those parents are abusive and like bulls they want to destroy you instead?
They end up having children like little bulls in a china shop. They become anxious, depressed, nervous, and sometimes get ptsd.
Can you imagine a bull in a china shop?
It's a disaster, yes a total disaster.
There’s something in our entrails knows this dread.
You hear it scratching – that’s alarm enough.
That snorting half-suppressed, that flagstone scuffed,
a passing shadow of a massive head,
and we scent darkness, dark beyond the dead.
It hovers like Unreason. Does it know?
Canals of self-containment overflow,
like wits’ weak walls, at that approaching tread.
Our fingers, feeling for that flimsy thread,
Seem senseless, unresponsive: can’t perform
the simplest act. No order now, no norm.
The Void insists. The Hunger will be fed.
With locusts of the Labyrinth in swarm,
the mitochondria of Panic sprout and spread.
I had a dream.
I don’t remember most dreams.
I was cleaning the floors of heaven.
It seemed a mixed blessing,
I was in heaven, after all
but I was cleaning the floors.
It was a part time job,
I knew that intuitively.
I don’t mind house cleaning,
heaven cleaning.
It’s calm work, kind of Zen.
Are we supposed to think of religions in heaven?
At first I scrubbed on my hands and knees.
The floors are soft in heaven, like golden gym mats.
Then I thought of it, and suddenly I had a swiffer-wet mop,
just like that - and the pad never wore out.
After a while, I had an iPod, and AirPods too.
Then a daiquiri - a banana daiquiri with a pastel rainbow umbrella.
They make rapturous daiquiris in the hereafter - they never run out.
‘Heavenly,’ I thought, snorting out a dizzy laugh.
.
.
Songs for this:
The River of Dreams Billy Joel
If the Lord Wasn't Walking By My Side by Elvis Presley
The tower dark and cold, a conquest for the brave.
My hands shake, a sign.
The bed unmade, Mother’s throne.
My cheeks lift, freedom.
The jougs bite, a bit looser.
My talons reach for it,
Click. Thud.
The crickets and wind sing, a perfect recipe.
My limbs remember the weight, stillness lingers.
Hunger gnaws where helplessness once slept.
Instincts awaken, survival bound.
"Mother could not keep me bound forever."
The trap is set, candle in the window.
Bread in the oven.
My brave knight, come rescue me.
The song rides the wind, siren slick.
My hair, golden destruction.
A noose spun long.
The pig comes, snorting vows and steel.
Exhausted, he falls, butchered clean.
My hands steady, my stomach full, sleep calls.
The jougs returns, familiar, a crown.
Mother must never know.
For she will do to me.
As I do to the brave.
Medieval times
A time of splendour
With gallant Knights
Ladies so slender
Jousting tournaments
The ladies all squeal
Exploding of hoofs
The clash of steel
Enter the Black Knight
To a round of jeers
The White Knight enters
To resounding cheers
First pass no foul
They try it once more
The Knight in White
Slumps to the floor
They carry him off
And tend to his wounds
A Blue Knight appears
The ladies all swoon
The maidens favourite
Known far and wide
Lord Richard of Leeds
His lance by his side
They ready for battle
Shields are in place
Masks of armour
Covering their face
Towards each other
They gallop full speed
Lances held high
The snorting of steeds
The Black Knight falls
The hero wins out
Blue Knight celebrates
Victory in the joust
Approaching the King
Horse and rider bow
The people go wild
Allegiance they vow
Medieval times
Hail to the King
Jousting tournaments
What glory they bring
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.