Time travails and tires
Life loves loss and lust
Death defies desire
Rest is rot and rust
Bobby still remembers his High School Sophomore year
Rarely do his other memories still ring so clear
But he also recalls letters to Christine (his girl at the time)
They are so vivid he can quote every line
Sometimes they skipped their classes just to talk for a while,
He adored that girl to madness,
her brilliance and style
That year was precious,that year was a bit wild
He's not living with any regrets,
That year and that girl left impressions he'll never forget
By: J.N.R Dutton
A faerie tale, folk lore, imaginary thoughts
and rhymes to live beyond the ordinary days
of a life destined to become immortal.
Filled with true love from a prince among men,
loyal cohorts, trustworthy, kind and generous
with all their gifts and love;
still sharing the adventure to the end.
Feats of daring-do, fables,
foibles and defeats, dragons slayed,
evil witches left behind to bask
in the caldron they turned life into;
Wizards teaching subtle ways
to make it through the never-ending days
of dread pirates who build their fortunes
in such illusive ways.
Avoiding superstition on a path
to happily ever after,
where waltzing on the rainbows
casts a spell of magic
across the landscape of the past.
Patching together the fabrications
saved unto the end;
spinning a yarn that’s hard to imagine -
yet - happens now and then.
All my charmed days
now dreamlike on cloud nine
where the fanciful quest continues
and - I
become a legend in my own mind.
Todd spent two weeks working in a seaside town
Til he and his boss man had a falling out
He packed up his bag, paid up his motel,
& he was outta there like a shot
before the sun went down
He hadn't seen his wife in quite a long time
So he couldn't wait to be homeward bound
By: J.N.R Dutton
I am reading about a poor chap,
by a killer led into a trap.
I’ve been biting my nails
at the ending’s details,
but the last page is missing. Oh, crap!
Gathering fantasies over here
Dog day stories having much cheer
Berries get loving stomp
Barbera wine we want
Arming our heart feeling cupid's spear
"Read away and let your imagination soar." By Poet......
I love books both new and old,
did you know there is power between the pages?
A book is made up of paper and ink,
the words give power to the fiction.
As a reader one can go many places,
learning about life and living.
Reading can bring one's imagination to life,
as you turn the pages reading away.
We can place ourselves and feelings in the story,
as we become one of the characters.
Sometimes it will take our breath away,
other times it may put us to sleep.
As a writer our imagination comes alive,
when the ink hits the paper.
The power of fiction,
can take us over as we write.
The letters become words,
then the words become sentences.
Our story becomes alive for the reader to enjoy,
after all we write for our readers.
As we write happy or sad,
the reader's feelings will come out.
We hope the reader will enjoy,
our vision for the poem or book.
**Every House Holds a Story**
Every house conveys a story,
Each narrative unfolds layers of history.
Years of unspoken truths can influence our future,
Regardless of how carefully they are hidden.
Unlike the enigmatic identity of the Mona Lisa,
Some tales may be wiser, left unvoiced.
Within each home, there can linger unhealed heartache.
Every room serves as a subtle reminder of the past.
Once a heart is broken, the healing journey can be arduous.
Misinformation and concealed truths can foster a persistent sense of unease.
We all desire representation in our government,
A voice that advocates for our interests.
However, the onus for change rests with us,
The plot thickened
Thinned…then
Thickened again
As idle thoughts perused the air
Each page a hero
Facing fear
Then a shift
Plot’s deviance
A character
That makes no sense
Inserted
As an after thought
Reshuffling the lies I bought
Lightening flashed
The book took flight
Monsters from all ages
Ran amok
And brought to life
The terror
Of the pages
I found it hiding ‘neath the bed
A place I knew quite well
For I had gathered woolies there
In midnight’s game
Of hide and shriek
"Sometimes there are No feelings, just words that talk very loud." By Poet
Come let me tell you a story,
about a want to be writer.
A young girl's notebook filled,
filled with her writings.
How a teacher put her and her writings down,
letting the class laugh at her work.
She knew she had something to say,
even if they did not believe in her.
She believed in herself,
even when the world was in doubt.
She used ink as her paints for painting,
on her canvas called paper.
She learned about rhymes and limericks,
along with verse, acrostic and more.
So many styles to choose from,
what was a girl to do?
Just write more for her readers,
telling stories in her poems.
She loved how her magical words,
seemed to go dancing across the paper.
When she found PoetrySoup,
she felt like she had come home.
Other writers to help her learn,
even correcting her from time to time.
Comments to inspire her,
bringing out her creativity and imagination.
A true writer writes from their heart,
never letting anyone stop them.
August 28
Do you know about him
The little tall man
Living in the brown street
His lips are hard
Like where charcoal is made
He feels high more than alcohol
And always scorn his wild hair
Do you know about the natural leaf
That scorned him
For the first time
He feels his lips
With a sedative herb
And forms a circle in his skin
There are dirts
Waiting to be heaped away
He picks them up by chance
Along with a clipper
He moves with the cloud
Seeing double shadows on the way
Laughing at him
Finally at a waste bin spot
The dirts are abandoned
He picks up the clipper
This is the best place for hair cut
He sits loving the moment
While passersby share laughters
Johnny grew up hard,
where the streets were mean
His wits were usually sharp,
and his eyes were keen
Gigi was bright,
and a high school beauty queen,
John thought they were worlds apart
Not just different leagues,
and even though she made his soul sing
He thought:
"No way she'd ever go for a guy like me"
But turned out he was wrong, so pleasantly
Twenty years on and the life they've built
Couldn't be more amazing
By: J.N.R Dutton
It’s so nice under the carpet
In our cozy home of dust
I believe we couldn't get
Any better place for us
In our dust community
We are friendly, living free
Using ingenuity
The cleaners cannot see
Yes we heard the latest news
About other dust
They had nothing left to lose
And were tossed too fast
Right into the litter bin
Comrades, have a rest
Yes we’ve seen it all, we’ve been
In the East and in the West
What I found the most important
Doesn’t look so at first glance
Dust’s the only thing immortal
Tells about lives that passed.
Colonel Parker found a young kid named Elvis,
and asked, “How are we gonna sell this?
The way he shakes that thing,
they’ll soon call him the king
because of his fabulous pelvis.”
They called him the rock and rock king.
All the girls would cry, “Ring-a-ding-ding”.
All until the sad day
they would solemnly pray,
because his pelvis was up in a sling.
Two Crowns, One Autumn
Alexander’s sorrow pen wrote stories of love,
She came, conquered, and ruled both heart and throne above.
They met in spring when flowers burned bright red,
And promised vows where future rivers led.
Autumn breathed with wings across the yellow sky,
Its song a whisper of the leaves drifting by.
The Nile exhaled in amber, slow and warm,
Holding their names within its final calm.
No chains of Rome could break what they had grown,
No power of time could claim them as its own.
When separation’s poison filled the air with grief,
They chose one last breath instead of brief relief.
He fell on steel, she took the asp’s cold kiss,
Not defeated, but by love and will restored.
Autumn died with last breath in the arm of Nile,
Yet love remains, and makes the season smile.
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.