Social Group Poems | Examples

I’m playing Jenga, at a social group. At a social group, playing Jenga I’m. The best block to take out is the middle one — not an absolute, but two left either side sounds solid. Two left either side sounds solid — the best block to take out is the middle one, not an absolute. We are playing for a photoshoot for the social group’s new website, so I purposely remove a crucial  block to knock over the tower. For the social group’s new website to knock over the tower, I remove purposely a crucial block, so we are playing for a photoshoot. The photographer wasn’t ready, though. Though, the photographer wasn’t ready. Twice, we’ve rebuilt the tower so he could get a photo of it falling. So he could get a photo of it falling, we’ve rebuilt the tower twice. He didn’t get the shot the time second. The second time, he didn’t get the shot. Third time lucky. Lucky time third.


After the Jengaful afternoon, we wish each other a nice eve. We wish each other a nice eve, after the Jengaful afternoon. Words fall as water, then Jenga into towers. 
                      As water, words fall. 
As Jenga,                                         words tower.

---unconscious bias

I crawl as my tongue slither back
 forth lies and untruths, 
my rock heart, my mouth spews 
-out disproportionately facts

represented or excluded from certain roles
my verbal statement of reform mine associations we hold 
I and my friends (I mean fiends) be a sign of 
---unconscious bias

Who are we as I and we snap judgments?
Assessments, who whom are I and we to past testaments
Them there whom they be negative attitude, 
We in ourselves outside of self can’t let them be

Of which one is not consciously aware, 
Against a specific social group none of which we I care
Eternal hatred, jealousy and slander
Why? Must I (we) inside those hearts speak aloud ill of

--Oh? What wroth, 
Such a lot 
Is this unconscious prejudice
 Human resources do they measure this


--- Those whom internally thinking unconscious bias


9/11/24
For This or That, Vol 27 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Edward Ibeh

I'm a merry man, I'm not melancholic
I have a fine taste for a pure frolic.
The place where I live is nice and bucolic
And perhaps you know I'm a soupaholic.

So, three times per day I eat
Soup made of beans, mushrooms and meat.
But of course my favorite meal
Is the fresh soup made of veal.

Last week, on a social group
I' ve read about "poetry soup".
I gave it a try and ate it
In the begining  a little bit.
Surprisingly, it was nutritious,
Full of aromas and delicious.
It deeply touched my  inner part:
My mind, my soul and my heart. 

So nothing is better, nothing is best
Than poetry soup and a quiet rest.

Sat here again screwing over what I’ve lost 
Mad enough too scream sad enough too tear
Inside I’m annoyed heartbroken and cross
as of the point of no return I’m well clear

I was in a place isolated in pain 
Comfy in a social group to then stray
those faces consistent in my life never changed
but the friendships they represented went strange

When I was needing and weak 
labelled pathetic attention seek
after their broken legs and heads lost from reality 
for years I’d been looking outwardly 
but I didn’t see it come back too me

It was all about them and I’d been naive aiding
self centred, I learnt when I needed saving
hypocrites judging any wrong in how I was behaving
telling their opinions spread too see me then cave in

Refusing to acknowledge my situation
they were selfish 
but telling everyone put eyes on me
and suddenly they’re selfless

It was all about reputation not friendship
those whom I befriended left me friendless 

So I’m sat here again chewing over what I lost
mad enough too scream sad enough too tear
Inside I’m confused heartbroken and lost
mad enough too scream sad enough too tear

From 2011 to 2013   I was a member of the online social group called The "SteamPunk Empire"  and wrote poetry and stories for the site. I created a group of 67 renegade contributors (Very funny I might add) called "The Gear Of Rejection" with several sub-groups within it. My Favorite one was named "Zombie Station" Under which I wrote using the Pseudonym "Zack The Zombie Dude". This is my station and this is my poem.

The Station

In the mist---you hear the hissing
Of the train that you've been missing
And you know you're getting near
To the Station that you fear
For the engineer is dead
There's no brain inside his head
But his thoughts---still remain
And this drives you quite insane
Now that passengers start boarding
Is it death the coach is hoarding ?
And it's waiting there for you
What on this earth will you do.............
Come and stand here at the wicket ?
To receive your one way ticket
And the price of this toll ?
Is your brain and you soul

  JT Curtis ......AKA ....Zack The Zombie Dude

Hotel stays when we
     all must go; broken phone but
            the Ice is cold!

Friends


When we come to a meeting
We are welcomed with a warm greeting

We come together because of a loss and pain
At our meetings, always something to gain 

We try to help a friend
With hope and talks right to the end

This is a place you may see tears
We all have those fears

Where here to help our heart and our mind
All the people here are so kind

We talk about our loves, the good and bad
Sometimes we may get very sad

We listen to what someone would say
Someone may cry and that’s okay 

One of our own had started a group, BSG
Bereavement Social Group come and see

Life is to live and then we die
It’s those in betweens that can make us cry

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.