I cherished time walking through Cherry Blossoms,
And when it is to turn pink, it’s mind-blowing.
It’s like a pink rug situated on both sides in Kyoto,
Experiencing the Promised Land while having Cotto.
I love observing the farmland plowing,
The fields appreciate him by bowing.
I am dismayed at the strangers who see me trespass,
Imagine them complaining so fast to the gran who owes the meadow.
Envisioning her catching me while I'm passing through her swath,
She solicits me if I'm trying to display this as my path.
Visualizing my agitation after I get busted,
Then the old wrinkled gran will make me entrusted.
For sure assign me to babysit the offspring,
I’ve to make him feel like a king,
Oh God! I cannot envisage it!
A lonely swing hangs from a tree
It seems as though it waits for me
To share the joy of sunset sublime
Something I feel, more than I spy
Red and orange autumn skies
Solicits me upward on every try
Higher up towards the sun
Then back down, just for fun
Arching under blazing leaves
Burning hotter with each swing
As wind whistles at my ears and hair
My feet go flying through the air
Soon, my sway fades with dimming light
The tree limb holds me quiet and tight
As the two of us share the sky
And a moment in painted time
The King of Boredom
solicits complaints
negative attitudes
~ hopes turned to 'aint's'
Silence solicits me once more,
for safety’s sake, which I deplore.
I treat these moments preciously
with sanctimonious jealousy;
guarding proclivity's tendencies
in silent moments of privacy.
Seclusion gestures,
begs my retention,
then demands unselfish attention;
incessant exclusion from confusion
and silent moments without intrusion.
Why must I resist persistently
returning oft habitually
with hopes of saving my sanity
in silent moments sans vanity.
I'm on a learning curve and learned today
a straight line means exponential growth, and
the steeper the line, the faster the death toll.
You saw the number of death this morning?
The tiresome business is all over again.
The stock of coffins dwindling
dazed with grief, I leaf the morning paper, swallowed up
by virus's treachery, racing like a wildfire.
Will it die a natural death?
Its insatiable appetite for death solicits
more concessions from humans who no longer
have individual destinies, only collective destinies.
We either find a rift in its wall of fire
or succumb to our bereavement and anxiety.
I'm on holiday without pay
auto-isolating long before the decree, calculating the
mathematics of defeat, asking
how will it be in three or six months?
and how close to virus's guillotine?
Through aeons of cold thoughts
frost in sheer chasm
no sun moon or star
earth empty bizarre
hell's grim phantasm
dust into dust blown
where ghosts jug on the sidewalks
each one six feet apart, alone
in retreat like ghouls of
lonely cemeteries
wraiths of uneasy covenant
too afraid to surmise the
brave salutation of a
passerby.
There is no place for me
To call home
Everything seem so far
Beyond my reach
As all things fall into silence
No one would hear my solicits
No one would care for my weeps
The world become cold and grim
And dye in the darkness
This is the greatest struggle that mocks me,
To be a distant sigh, caused by this queen;
A rose that has yet to compliment thee,
beyond the scope of eyes, already seen.
There is mystery in her soft appeal,
a humble frame that solicits my quest;
and while life leaves us with answers concealed,
I’m convinced this broad advance is perfect.
For while life is bitter, this is pleasure;
To gracefully shatter this mundane silence,
and dispel the devils space, indeed clever;
let’s rejoice in brief absence coined timeless.
With these tendencies forever burning,
may this one flesh never cease from yearning.
An insatiable hunger
fuels her primal desires.
And in her skimpiest skirt,
she solicits cash for sex.
Prowling taverns late at night,
she peddles depravity.
And smelling of cheap perfume;
she signals **** with each breeze.
A succubus seductress,
she sells disappearing dreams.
And her suggestive whispers
promote promiscuity.
A sleek, stealthy predator;
she seduces with a smile.
And with her piercing blue eyes,
she stalks her prospective prey.
Provocatively perky;
she sways in erotic ways.
And like an addictive drug,
she leaves men begging for more.
I
love
your smile
all the more
when it's not practiced
but tugs the corners of your lips
as a spontaneous reaction to my presence
for it immediately solicits a genuine smile of my own in return.
Having fissioned the mind
To intercede the importunate
And petitioned wisdom inside
Idle and dissipated
As tremendous illusions
pervades the soul
The unsurpassed revolt of
capitulated distortions
A percussion of thoughts
That solicits affectations of such
At birth I saw the opening
And a speck of light
From the world that welcomed me –
The first visible light
To excite my pupils, I guess.
That light comes clearer now
As I pass by the road
Full of dried hit-and-run frogs,
With various scenes of life along.
The dots are exposed:
I see one from the night sky
Like a white paint drop
On a black board,
From a grain of sand by the sea,
From a tiny seed
That waits for the time to sprout,
From the eye of a beast
That secretly solicits love,
And from many others.
The dots lie on such an infinitely wide sheet
That I try to connect them
And cannot see the whole picture.
I think God watches me on the sheet
Under a microscope.
Fairy Tales and as you wishes have warped my mind
Cause with you I have come to find
Like Icarus to the sun, and Annabel Lee to the sea
There's something about your smile that compels me
Like a moth to the flame
I long to whisper your name
So let the Sirens sing their song
And I will blithely hum along
But as I slip my little black dress on
I wonder could this be a lasting bond
Or like Eleonora in The Valley of the Many-Colored Grass
Am I destined to fall on my ass
Unfortunately, that last sentiment can not matter
Because as everyone knows, it's all about the happily ever after
For the contest
Edgar Allan Poe ref Annabel Lee and Eleonora in The Valley of the Many-Colored Grass
Pause the clock, let the world stop
allowing our past to catch up
before going one more second
into the future.
Would not stop long, the past
dragged along generation after generation,
faster than the last, problems left behind
getting worse, ignorance, bigotry, hatred,
degenerate companions.
Passing the past one generation to the next
to resolve solicits undesired passion,
impossible, never happens, too busy
creating new problems which will be
ignored and added.
Plans drawn never finished, appease none,
stress factors exceed acceptable tolerance,
the past doomed to tumble under the weight,
of a neglected, troubled society.
Stop the world, let our past, pass into our future,
disregard prophetic, probably true, no future,
with an unresolved past.
I gawk across the court
A witness to her Murdered Love
She points towards the Guilty veins
That Blocked a Dead heart
He seduces her amid those firing eyes
And she flames in bloody fluids
Over her blemished cheeks
At which his Lip marks
Yet as the defence
Solicits, and again solicits
A wordless girl says “Guilty”
As the true guilt’s’ lips fastens her mouth
But I attained across
And clutched the handcuffs
That symbolizes what I restrain
The chains to my Life
Yet the Beautiful departs the beautiful
While I scrutinize this prisoner
Flees the Pumping cell,
And the Knock, Knock, Knock acts the End
Mark of the Beast(666)
Money rules most everyone,
just ask me and you will see.
Even Billy Graham solicits funds,
how else do they do
the crusades...
Money is god(mammon)
ewe can have god or applesauce
money is so nice
with money ewe get applesauce
but money is not nice
murder;killing; and now living
is all tied to the Mark(666)
Public executions will be next
killing people for religion
it will happen soon and never stop
pain is still inside of me but
forgiveness is somewhere near my heart
even now no one cares there is no one
sleeping in the park
they billy club the feet
of the poor at midnite
there is no relief or respite
for those who do not fight
The Mark(666)of the Beast
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.