Sing to the stars a sonorous song,
Bring them out of their hiding,
Let them adorn the night sheet,
Summon the stars to dispel melancholy forlorn hearts meet.
Where are the embellishments of the sky?
Why is the sky left bare with no beauty to stare?
The night sorrows for its lamps,
Plain darkness holds sway and clamps.
The watchers are without a guide,
The sages are without a door,
The sky bleeds for unsown seeds,
The meadows are troubled by recalcitrant weeds.
Seduce the stars without a script,
Let your song echo in the night,
Then the stars will emerge with full light,
And the night will spill out its mysteries.
August 8, 2026.
The pews are rows of silent witnesses,
And my mind is a storm of "not enough,"
But the font keeps talking...
isn't a shout from a mountain peak,
Or a list of the ways I’ve been weak.
It’s the breath in my lungs when I’ve lost my own,
The seat at the table where I’m fully known.
Yesterday’s debts are dissolved in the sea,
This is the mercy He’s pouring on me.
Like a wheeping willows long graceful leaves, my sorrows spill out onto the morning dews grass, the wooden kneeler bares my weight, Lord Heavenly Father hear my cries, as I slowly exhale. “Jesus I trust you”, I quietly ask fir your undying Mercy, guide me in my days ahead.
Versifying is an art.
One’s course of thoughts, it can chart.
Sing loud your heart’s sweet refrain,
And harness some fruitful gain.
What you hold silent in heart,
Spill out, it may hit like dart.
If you put apt words in rhyme,
The outcome will be sublime.
What is it that makes me weak? What is it that I can't sleep? How come the smallest thing triggers and the biggest thing withers? I know my God exists, but I do not feel like an easy fix. Why does everyone leave me? Why don't I ever leave them? I know I deserve better and yet I still allow others the pleasure. The pleasure to hurt. The pleasure to use. The pleasure to abuse. The pleasure to apply such a pressure that turns my black skin blue. 100 times I've said I was tired. But 100 times more I did not have the desire to walk out that door. I don't find being tough easy to do anymore. The tougher I am, the harder it gets to pretend. Like an egg. Hard on the shell but the opposite lies within. I am ready for my yoke to spill out. I am ready for my shell to crack. No longer can I be hard. No longer can I choose to react. I love a lot. I want to be loved a lot.
Kantung yang penuh
Di genggam, pendirian dari jauh
Lirrik syahdu berkeluaran, jatuh
Jaring menanti semua sifat angkuh
Telah merintih mengerik yang terpendam
Sayatan luka dulu, penting ?, kau termakan dendam
Malam benderang bila waktu menidur
Hujan melelap bila sakit akur
dalam gagal menentang realita
Buta dari semua mimpi, terpejam mata.
English translation :
Title: in all dreams
A full pocket
Holded, a stance from afar
Soulful lyrics spill out, falling
A net awaits all arrogance
Buried groans have been heard
The wounds were important before? You're consumed by revenge
The night is bright when it's time to sleep
The rain falls asleep when the pain is in harmony
Failed to confront reality
Blind from all dreams, eyes closed.
A warm embrace from little arms
Outstretched to reach my nose
She presses hers into mine
She holds her breath then blows
I feel the crinkle of a smile spill out the corners of her lips
She sneaks a cup of mama's coffee
Haughtily takes 3 sips
Belly ablaze she rumbles now
Uncontrollable and proud
The room starts to dance
At the sound
I watch in awe as the lights go in sync
With the twinkle in her eyes
She commands her audience
And calls home the prize
Pitter patter footsteps come up from behind
Gently pulls my sweater
As if i'd ever mind
Sweet hushes of morning's first breath
Fall on my waking ears
Faint hellos
Dancing across the room
In tip toes
They wrap their fingertips finding a home in the other
This my hearts yearn
To be a mother
The tears catch themselves in my throat,
and do not spill out of my eyes.
He's laying in the warmth of my bed,
and I know his hands will go cold,
I think back to the time I've wasted- no- cherished.
The grief of sickness flickers in my husbands eyes,
Still I do not cry.
His research stirs in my head,
And I laugh sadly,
Thinking: God will not wait for him,
And still my cheeks stay dry.
God, how peculiar, how he makes my mind wonder
Of all the thoughts his data might bestow.
his chest spikes in pain,
I see it in his eyes- then across his face,
And our family's faces twists
as if our hearts are the ones failing,
Maybe they are in some way.
The conclusion that maybe meaning isn't in the pages,
But in their memories,
Makes my chest heave,
But no sob comes.
I see him smirk,
And turn,
And whisper,
“I am not at all afraid to die.”
Then, with a shaky hand,
I lay my hand across his face,
and close his eyes.
Knowing he lives on in books,
and in me.
the refrigerator of my dreams features a waterfall
A moving waterfall that greets me when I open her door
She is filled with healthy fruits and vegetables.
They spill out and form an oasis when her door is opened.
She greets me with a pleasing Dinah Shore voice.
Wishes me well, asks about my children, makes me feel special.
I can sit on her rocks and let her waterfall gently flow over my hair.
We commune in silent appreciation, this refrigerator and I.
She holds my secrets inside her soul, revealing them to no one.
We are a terrific team, because we appreciate each other in many ways.
She is empathetic and wonderfully kind. She brings nature into the kitchen.
When I am sad, I open her up and we commiserate together.
She uplifts me and enlightens me. We are pals.
Pencil strokes blacken the page
Crowds blur out around the scene
White leaf enlivened by sword and magic
Heroes journey through the frames
Worlds arise from fingertips
Ink spill out as though blood
Ink can't stain a wounded art
Fingers mar those black-lined strokes
Frames a prison from the crowd
Thoughts withheld remain white
Magic blur out from the scenes
Parchment smudged in pencil dust
heels spin to worn paths,
mask grimacing yesterdays—
eyes not quite so sure
if this swerve of direction
is up down or whatever
sky stares down the gaze
but chin is still uplifted
as rain lashes face—
challenging storm's resurgence
mirror's stance of defiance
cliff gave no warning
of free-fall rocks in full view,
with no hold to siege
in the up-down tailspin crash—
to pucker up start again
chisel gouges bone
features blurred recast remade
as the past erased—
yet the scar itself engraves
phantom in impost's shadow
two mirrors collide
eyes locked in a frozen glare
neither one will yield—
defiance sharper than blades
masks slam together head first
shards spill out from glass
reflections just don't matter
tattered unravelled—
what remains is radiance—
that shines from the self within
My cheeks mopped by tearstains,
heart tainted by swallowed sobs.
Yet somehow, when you listen,
words don't want to be heard.
But don't leave me alone,
embrace me tighter in the night.
Suppress my depression, push it down,
don't let those unspoken words explode.
Don't let them spill out of my heart.
Without you around, I'd be washed away
in a flood of words my own heart spilled.
You anchor your rancor, a cancerous canker,
Not just any mole
Your hatred you hide it, you split and divide it,
It's soured your soul
The women, you bait them, you date and berate them,
You're no kind of man
You're just out for the kill and you spill out your swill,
Like nobody can
Their hearts beating faster, they race towards disaster,
Watch out for that curve
The dark he is seeking, it weakens their beacons,
But strengthens his nerve
They know they're in trouble, his efforts now double,
Not just a bad dream
Unable to match him, they kick and they scratch him,
And let out a scream
He's vain, so he's flattered, they're raped and they're battered
And left there to bleed
In his warped little brain, all their terror and pain,
Will then fill his need
Through hell and high waters, must teach all our daughters,
To stand up and fight
It's horrific but true, it could happen to you,
And happen tonight
The light is thinning.
A ragged man struggles
to carry an unboxed
large plasma screen.
He is walking it home,
he has no home
still, he is walking it,
but now it's raining
the TV becomes
a slippery umbrella.
There is so little light to be had,
no one goes to the park
not even to stare at the sky,
not even to walk a dog,
not even to smoke a cigarette
huddled behind
a dripping tree trunk.
A TV slides down
a slick grassy bank.
A bad day for minstrels,
knights and stray unicorns.
An old woman,
hands wrapped
in fingerless wool,
tugs at an abandoned
plasma screen.
After sliding down a grassy bank
she gives up.
Beetles spill out of a ruck of turf.
Her heels disappear into a gray light.
The beetles take shelter
under a large television.
Tearing, open up my chest
Pulling, tugging at my heart
Burning, burning, burning, burning
Ripping, pulling me apart
Let my insides spill out
See me falling here and there
Maybe we can put me together
Performing with no center snare
Arms and chest are open wide
Wounds agape for you to see
Someone help me wipe my tears
There is no one here but me
they peel back my skin
like old wallpaper,
the stink rising
as the organs, bruised and bloated,
spill out like forgotten secrets.
the saw hums,
cutting through bone like butter,
the ribs cracking open
to a cold, fluorescent light
that never flinches.
the heart, heavy, useless now,
is weighed and tossed aside,
just another lump of meat
in a world that’s always hungry
for the next hollow thing.
looking down on what's left of me,
I turn in dicust
having to do this sll over again.
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.