A virtual
world of
friends
connected by
our writing
threads
Same soup; different bowl
Same bowl; different soup
Same poet; different writes
Same agenda; different poets
SOUP TROUPE (CM)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
peer group, Soup group
write verse, scribe troop
UGH!...NO MUG!...SMASH! BASH! CRASH!
OHH!...NO SOUP!... SMASH! BASH! CRASH!
UGH!...NO BREAD!...SMASH! BASH! CRASH!
OHH!...WE GO!...SMASH! BASH! CRASH!
Dying Young Lyrics by Eileen Manassian
I’m afraid of dying young
Of leaving things yet undone
I’m afraid I’ll leave this place
Yet not leave a single trace
I’m afraid I haven’t said
All that lives inside my head
I’m afraid I’ll disappear
And no one will hold me dear.
chorus
I’m afraid I’ve yet to touch ,The hearts of those I love so much
I’m afraid I’ll never see, Who it is I’m meant to be
I’m afraid, for can’t you see?, Not much time is left for me.
I’m afraid, oh, I’m afraid
Instrumental
Soon I’ll lie silent in my grave…
With my stories yet untold
With my dreams yet to unfold
With my songs yet unsung
With my words yet on my tongue
With my passion tucked away
With no more prayers left to pray
I’m afraid……
chorus
I’m afraid I’ve yet to touch ,The hearts of those I love so much
I’m afraid I’ll never see, Who it is I’m meant to be
I’m afraid, for can’t you see?, Not much time is left for me.
I’m afraid, oh, I’m afraid
Afraid
(Afraid)
Afraid
(Afraid)
Afraid
[contest 1408 : Premier
Brian Strand
1.9.25 : Placed 7th ]
POT filled with buttery butternut soup
OKRA sauce sprinkled atop chilli hot ~
TICKLES our tastebuds on rosy cosy spot
Feasting on the Soup tonight,
A scrumptious fare of pure delight
A wonderous place, assuredly
And nary one darn calorie!
P olish up your best spoons everyone!
O ne taste and you'll ask for seconds
E xceptional quality in the finest dishes
T ry at least one item from the menu
R udeness is not tolerated
Y our empty bowl awaits to be filled...
S pecial soup for you, bon appetit!
O rganized restaurant, well-written recipes
U nited are we by one common interest:
P oetry. writing reading connecting.
Even it is turned on, my Soup mailbox is often very empty
I never liked tomato soup -
that thick slurry of red
in a white bowl - childhood
winters, Friday nights
with a menacing dark
pressing against the window
as if trying to get in.
Tomato soup looked too much
like blood poured out
of that suffering
pictured in the vivid imagery
hung along the stations
of a child's mind no matter
if blest by grace.
When older and wiser,
I had lamb shank soup,
clumped with celery, carrots
and loads of gelatinous meat.
Each heaped spoonful
was a precious gift,
a celebration of life.
As we sit and type and stare at our screens.
At times we wonder what all of this means?
With our mouse we roam through poems like a maze.
Looking for something worthy of our praise.
We write of our hopes and tell of our woes,
Most of the time, not knowing where it goes.
We wait for the views and comments to see.
We try to share thoughts authentically.
Friendships begin with people we don’t know.
Some will flourish and continue to grow.
We freely give hugs and our blessings too,
And even sent soup mail to just a few.
Why is it on screen we can be so bold?
Telling our secrets that we’ve never told.
Why do we share the deep thoughts on our minds?
Others can see in through our opened blinds.
We have things to say and feel that we must.
So, we open our hearts to friends we trust.
To Poetry Soup friends, my family,
I have found the place where I’m meant to be.
Dear Poetry Soup,
I have known and enjoyed you since 2021
I decided this would be a lifetime connection
As you were personable, special and so much fun
When l first met you were friendly and comforting
You felt like home
But sadly you have changed of late
You are distant and our relationship is now unknown
Poets have become discontent and restless
As there is many a concern
A disconnect is now present
Many poets have left …vowed never to return
Sadly, you no longer feel the same ….as you once did
Comradery and connections have faded
Perhaps it is time for a change of ingredients
So the Soup is current, tasty and upgraded!
Your cheating ways, you've sunk so low,
to win contests - that isn't right.
You've used AI, few sponsors know
Your cheating ways
MY ideas form, it’s time to write,
(Unlike AI, my brain is slow)
When poem’s done, I feel delight!
But AI wins, it's quite a blow
It's unfair and I feel uptight
We're NOT blind sheep, I want to show
Your cheating ways
Are they really true?
At times, I ask myself that?
Are they who they pretend to be?
Or wearing a sequined mask and hat?
But, I do know the ones who are there for me!
It’s like sitting with a friend…
Beneath a cool, willow tree.
There is a love there, that never expires.
Their heart smiles gladly with you,
Way far beyond any poetry miles.
Love, Pangie
6/20/2025
I have so many best friends on PoetrySoup
It has been the go-to-place for me to meet people.
People from Australia, Africa, New York City, and Texas.
I have no idea where some of my best Soup friends live.
In the middle of the night, I will get messages from my besties.
Many of them have sent me points for my contests.
They wish me “happy birthday,” “happy Easter”, “happy Friday!’
So many wonderful friends I have made on this site.
If I am lonely or sad, I get online and read my messages.
People are kind, empathetic, lovely in their sentiments.
I am uplifted by them. They are as much a friend as my off-line friends.
Maybe more so. They understand me better.
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