Soggy Ramen
By: Fawn P.
August 28th, 2026
One day…
You’ll be stuck in a loop,
Infernal, constant, unable to change,
If you're lucky it'll last a second,
If not a year,
You'll tear open a pack,
You'll save the left over dust,
Then…
You'll wait…
At first you’ll be perfect,
Your bowl well filled,
But slowly your oasis dries,
Next…
You'll wait longer…
Worms swell bigger sliding around dirt,
Made from liquid gold,
They shimmer as you watch,
Your bowl fills full now,
Your oasis less empty,
Finally…
You’ll stall…
Watch the worms,
Watch them slither and stretch,
White, pasty,
fragile…..
Your bowl is fool,
Your oasis less bear,
You sprinkle it in glitter,
Glitter makes it shine again,
Your mind eats before your mouth,
Your hands break,
as they grip and drag the brain,
The worms are squirming,
So, slippery,
So, hard to grip,
“Stop moving!” you’ll cry,
They already have,
Have they ever moved?
Did you watch them squirm?
They lay limp,
Dead and empty,,
But still swelled thick,
With liquid gold
Your bowl feel fool,
But the liquid gold is gone….
Soggy Doritos
I like soggy Doritos, I will not lie,
For in a taco salad, they're the apple of my eye.
I like them fresh out of the bag, as perfect as it seems,
But in a taco salad, the soggy chip is queen.
I slather on the sour cream and hot sauce just to boot,
Sending both my waistline and my blood count through the roof!
I've been known to devour a whole bag in a day,
Till my checking account is empty and I'm walking with a sway.
I love the tangy chip, I surely do,
Either from the bag or in a bowl. With a Mountain Dew.
But by far, the very best of the chip,
Is in a taco salad so soggy you can't dip.
the grass where i step
as my bare feet wade through yard
dancing in the rain
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Folded edges gleam~
paper boats on rain-swollen stream,
racing past.
Like childhood's brief,
bright voyage,
soggy hulls dissolve too fast.
a related memoir vignette can be read at poetrysoup.com/short_stories/paper_boats_floating_by_13644
There once was a little boy,
Whose imagination would not rest --
Cursed or blessed?~ was difficult to say.
Some journeys were only fantastic-play:
Sliding down waves, shaking tentacles
With friendly octopi – but there were those, also
Instructive, like the flying fish, who could not fly --
Sort of on the surface, would just lie~ and cry. Try as
He often did; not one scale would elevate...even
Garnered Gale’s windy' berate. Proud of her churning,
Dislodging force – with that little fish, like whipping an
Expired fish-horse.
Then a trumpet, from an angel on high:
Opened in the sky, a bright, sunny eye. No sense to
Tear, little brother – one added drip to an ocean, cannot
Not change a dip, for more of the same slop – one more salty drop will
not lift aloft a repetitious, soggy flop. Realize, from the top, a new world to see –
Now, will yourself some real wings...as did the crab his legs, and go for eternity!
newspaper is wet
front porch scattered with wet leaves
water marked windows
His pants were quite dry when he got 'em
His classmates just laughed when they caught him
A wet widening stain
And it sure wasn't rain
Now it's way too easy to spot him
Don't you just hate soggy bread
It falls apart in your hand
I should just use toast instead
I think you all understand
It stands up to mayo better
The crunch it makes sounds so nice
Until of course it gets wetter
Then you might need another slice
The seas today were not a short, sharp chop
but were syrupy soggy soft like black treacle,
clinging to the hull like on a spoon, clutching and sticky.
Warily I sailed on, aware of the tenuous tug
and drag of deception in the compliant welcoming.
I, as an alien in the wetness of sea,
knew that the warm softness of the seas's clutch and cuddle
may belie a hidden tumult,
a change of face
on the whim
of a mere breath
of wind.
unceasing, unstoppable
a force of nature, this rain
the sun no sooner pops out
here come the clouds and my hopes are dashed again
wretched, muddy, soggy trails
far too slippery to hike
a day that I regretted
winter’s constant rain is what I most dislike
----------
An Endecha, in quatrains of 7x:7a:7x:11a, intended to be a lament or a "sad song that locks up a moan"
there is no breathing allowed
i am now dead
she is now gone
familiarity is now a pungent puke provider
there are no heartbeats allowed
i am now dead
she is now gone
normalcy is now a free bleeder on some bright carpet
there is no life allowed
i am now dead
she is now gone
change is now the cum stains that smells like left field cigarette smoke
When I was fifteen I had a soggy heart
“Paint what it feels like”
So I painted my heart, dripping in sorrow
The cheap acrylic paint left their printer paper as soggy as the heart I had made
I’m twenty now, and the poeticism has vanished
I don’t feel melancholy
I feel like sh*t
It was easy to see who had the most eyes
Attached to her chest so abundantly sized
In this contest
She had the best
She quite easily garnered the... booby prize
Note: please click on soup's "auto punctuate" feature if you feel so moved;-)
Had a dream last night, you could say it was wet
Fell headlong in a pool while playing the clarinet
Kept playing underwater
Received much applausers
Got out, and in my pocket was some soggy cigarettes
© Jack Ellison 2015
The sun rises on the distant horizon
Sending rays through gray clouds
Tinging them to a somber cobalt
Waiting to shine red and proud
The sound waves vibrate from crickets
As they rub their hind legs
They have double-fold in numbers
Spread like whisky bootleg_
The fog drapes its long tenacles
Across the hill and vale
It coats all the trees, shrubs, and homes
Spreads across like bride's veil
Dampness penetrates every nook
Reaches within crevices
Notebook pages become soggy
Wet with fog's devices
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