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
breathless hush
Beyond dreams
with candlelight burns
Lives cross lives idling
Beyond souls emptiness'
piano speaks
'It's all in one mind'
the trees listening
for they are one
with the universe
Eyes smell flowers and become them
There's a deathless hush tonight
tidal wave sweeps in
breathes and sinks all lights lit
Mormon tabernacles washed away like barnacles
Coyotes are confounded & swim nowhere
An orchestra keeps on playing Handel's Water Music
Horns fill with water float away like lovers horizontal
Loop becomes a rollercoaster
like water glasses mixed with Buddhist brine
watered down beer topped with sea foam
Beau Fleuve suddenly become salt
buried masts of Amsterdam arise
the great wave sweeps
to wash away over-age Camembert
steaming in sea-vines
the washed land awakes again to wilderness
the only sound a vast thrumming of crickets
a cry of seabirds high over
and Indians reclaim their canoes
(Blackout of Wild Dreams Of A New Beginning
By Lawrence Ferlinghetti)
I wake to soft light
that slips in my room~
warm, calm air
from a far, kind place.
I sit with my tea
and watch the steam rise,
a thin, pale thread
that swirls, then fades.
The day sings its tune~
cars, birds, wind, leaves~
each sound a small sign
that life moves on.
I think of the paths
I have walked so far,
the ones I left,
the ones that held.
No grand truth comes.
No loud call rings.
Just this:
the world is made
of small, bright things~
a cup, a breeze,
a soft, clear note
that lifts the heart
for one brief beat
and lets it glow.
Put me to sleep, O little god,
spirit of the ancient, healing tree—
a beautiful rustling brewing within the ancestors' plant,
emerging from captivating redness.
Invisible as a shadow, leaving only gleaming, shining bones behind,
the unseen one remains hidden from my eyes.
Yet, it is a tree of lush, vibrant green,
fragrant and sweet-smelling, bearing soft flowers and a hidden thorn.
Your humming sound—a silencing rustle in the night,
in the deep gloom, in the gathering dark—
becomes a dirge for the dead, a hymn of my final rest.
With windows wide open on every side,
I am dangerous and lost,
without origin or protection,
I am weeping,
unveiling a pain of finding the courage
to sleep facing the solitude rather than
hiding from it
Echoes of the 90s Hip Hop
In the dawn of the nineties glow, Beats dropped heavy, spirits in flow, old school vibes, raw and true, rhythms that kicked butt shaped a culture anew/
G-funks smooth, West Coasts ride, East Coasts hustle, man, pride you can't hide, from Tupac's voice to Big L's rhyme, legends etched in the sands of time/
Boom bap beats and scratchin decks, Classic cuts that still connect, Undergrounds dance steps, popin' and deep, secrets that the old 90's school keeps diggin' on ya, that's for keeps/
Mix tapes spinning, smokin' joints alive, every rhyme a hustle, a story to survive, from Diddys
drops to Ice Cube's boombox stance, Hip hop's soul a fierce dance/
So, dig this, here's a high-five to hip hop's golden age, the craft, the passion, the music, rapper's rage, forever in our turntable hearts they stay, the timeless sound of hip-hop's "beat down" lies in its aggressive, stripped-back rhythm, take no prisoners sound, a blueprint for heavy social commentary/
Man, it's the message, hip-hop history, forever new/
In the morning light, they rise and play,
With giggles dancing in the sun's warm ray.
Chasing butterflies, they run so free,
In the world of wonders, just let it be.
Painted skies and clouds of dreams,
Every sound a song, every moment it seams,
Puddles become oceans, sticks turn to swords,
In their vibrant tales, imagination soars.
A simple flower holds secrets untold,
In tiny hands, its beauty unfolds.
Laughter spills like bubbles in the air,
Each smile is a treasure, none can compare.
The taste of ice cream, a splash of delight,
A cozy blanket on a cold starry night.
Friendships woven like threads of gold,
In their innocence, pure joy to behold.
Through their eyes, the world’s a magical place,
Where love and wonder find their embrace.
In their laughter, in their gentle sighs,
We find the essence of happiness, through children's eyes.
~Johnny Adicks
2026.02
Written: December 25, 2025, for contest by Line Gauthier
**************
The wind's gentle caress fades into stillness,
the initial glow of dawn paints the sky.
Every sound, a slight whisper, begins to stir,
and the dawn beckons the earth to be alive.
These sounds herald a promise for the planet,
a renewed sense of dread creeps into the day.
Did you forget the hands that held,
The stories that she used to tell?
While all the world went racing by,
She watched the years fade in her eye.
Did you forget?
Did you forget?
The sun has risen, and has set.
She stands alone where shadows creep,
With promises she couldn’t keep.
Her trembling hands, once strong and fast,
Are weary from a vanished past.
The dinner falls upon the floor,
A heavy sound, a closing door.
The meal is ruined, lost to dust,
Like hollow hope and broken trust.
Did you forget?
Did you forget?
The debt of love, not paid back yet.
A muffled cry, a silent tear,
From eyes that no one ventures near.
The world’s too busy, moving fast,
To hear the echoes of the past.
You’ve filled your days, you’ve filled your view,
With everything you had to do.
But tell me, now that you can see—
Was she just "lost," or meant to be?
The angels did not sing. Not at first.
Their silence split the sky like frost on stone,
a pause between the star’s slow burst
and the breath that would become the song.
Noel, they’d say, but first—the dark,
the shepherd’s fire gnawing at the night,
the lamb’s pulse quick beneath his palm,
the weight of wool, the itch of straw,
the way a man might kneel
without knowing why.
Then~
the air grown thick with wings,
the cry like wine poured from a height,
the name that broke the nameless dark:
Noel, Noel, the root, the spark,
the falling, catching, light.
Now we hum it, clean and bright,
but the first Noel was half a scream~
the sound a world makes when it tears
and finds the seam is lined with gold.
As the night drags the shadows from the day
It's time for me to toss and turn into dreamland
It's hazy here
It's snowing
And I'm up on a ledge
The river below says "If you're going to jump in,
it's sink or swim."
A dove flies by and circles and lands on my shoulder
flutters its wings and says
"Do you know what today is?"
"No" I reply
"It's Christmas Eve, Shhh! Listen!
Can you hear the bells pealing,
The violin cries
The melancholy saxophone, and
The carolers singing?"
Then without a sound, a mime dances up to me
Shoe's away the bird and without a word
does a miming of "Another Auld Lang Syne"
With sad face, and gestures of heartbreak
Then he hands me a letter
The letter reads:
"I want to be holding you, watching Christmas movies
on the couch, with snow falling outside
and the coziness of each other fireside
................love Julie
P.S. You know where to find me"
Why resist, when it’s much cheaper
To admit that life’s a dream
You are just a lifelong sleeper
Who keeps walking out and in
Sleep provides refuge from sorrow
A small solace from old pain
On a bridge towards tomorrow
Over dreamland rides your train
Waking up is always late
It's a dreamless phase of sleep
In Orwellian deep state
We are human-looking sheep
Everything is topsy-turvy
In the most accustomed way
So you don’t express a worry
About anything they say
Life’s a comedy of errors
A tricky business from the start
And we have to be its bearers
Playing our little part
What they say they never do
But it’s hardly a surprise
They are human cockatoo
Who can sound a bit too wise
Life’s a dream, and we are sleepers
Otherwise we can’t be here
In full conscience and so helpless
Till the day we disappear.
There once was a place soupers called PS
Forgive me if I sound a bit too superc-i-l-i-o-u-s
Bloggers delight with fisticuffs
at spiteful bullies bogus bluffs
One day gone, none got along, all unscrupulous!
Delete them at first, what they falsely implore
Seems one can’t hash it out with an execrator
Or block the gates
of those old reprobates
And poof all gone, it’s what buttons are for!
Truth be told, or is it so,
Is strength bronze or tin?
Forever mystery lies so,
In this transcended kin.
Beneath the rust, a fragile heart,
Iron weeps, its strength apart.
A veil of secrets, shadows loom,
Where truth’s enigma finds its tomb.
In fragile echoes, whispers call,
Uncertainty befalls, thoughts of chanciness.
As ready minds begin to fall,
A second thought of unsureness.
Though some say it's peaceful,
A chilling draft, shadows impenetrable.
The touch, cold & luridful,
As if metal guards what’s unfalsifiable.
A muffled sound, a mournful hum,
As secrets whisper, what is keen.
For a darkened blanket casted,
Obscuring truth, a world unseen.
The taste bitter, how obscene,
Obscene in taste, even in earful mean.
When the Language Merge**
I walked into Bobby Department Store and yelled, “Where are the Jamaicans and Barbadians?” This might sound a little strange to most people; however, it’s that time of year when all the languages and dialects merge, accompanied by the authentic accents from their respective places. Plus, there's always a bit of rudeness as people wait in long lines. Yet, amidst it all, the joy of Christmas still shines through in their voices.
Christmas is that one time of year when you can be happy without needing a reason. I could hear conversations like, “I want to mail this barrel by next week, but I know they won’t get it before next year.” As an outsider eavesdropping on these conversations, I sometimes think, “What is this barrel they are talking about? A barrel of rum? A barrel of Jack Daniel’s? A barrel of monkeys? What barrel?”
Yes, Bubba! That barrel is filled with gifts and food for their families on the Island of Brim. All I’d like to add is that I’m reminded that while New Yorkers say “standing online,” the rest of the English-speaking world says “standing in line.” - Jeffrey Stein Garten.
Thou art O Lord a unique One,
And I am a value-less nought,
(Sans thee oh what a worthless dot!)
And an object of abject fun!
I've come thence to thee, this to plead:
Be thou Good Lord my life's sole lead
And let me just tag on to thee,
To One-- zeroes like chicks of hen--
In various powers of ten,
This way can we grow, ye and me.
Sans zeros One remains just one,
Sans One, zeros are next to none.
This way it may sound a wee bit selfish,
But so-how’s cooked in this world every dish!!!
______________________
Sonnet (tongue-in-cheek) | 02.03.2007 | humour
Note: Most prayers sound like a bucket list of wishes and wants. Often, they are conditional give and take— if you grant me this O God, I'll do that, so on so forth. This ditty has reduced it to a business deal, no less!
Read also 'Take heart, thou canst all I can', a sequel from this.
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.