My pale skin elbows perch on bridge imposing,
upon some ample urban gurgling river’s surge,
a heart palpitating in nostalgic rhythmic vein,
as I recall my auntie aglow in treasured haunt,
who focussed without minimal falter or delay,
at a remote mist enshrouded mystery peak,
lady who communed with transcendant summit,
with rippled laughter, bouncy sumptuous rapture,
she dreamt of sculpting velvet prose in praise but alas,
a woman’s early passing this sudden thwarted foil,
perhaps I might fulfill that sapphire cloud aspiration,
oh how I yearn profoundly for such charisma now,
her colourful asides, witty tinted “INK”-lings,
whose temperament exuded pink pastel
brushstrokes,
petrichor of poignancy that lingering whimsical, spark from my boundless auntie,
a red hue’d stimulus I inherited
Vivid scrolls,
in tantalising yarns,
fantastic that reveal,
exotic envelopes of vista,
that have me transfixed,
and transported,
my brown hazel eyed,
gladsome gaze,
oe’r lush depiction,
bold brushstroke of,
myriad science fiction,
vibrant character snapshots,
that dispel monotony,
douse mundane patterns,
gap-filler of trite,
vacuous daily plod,
as I clasp otherworld,
enchantment in a dash,
novelists who exude,
endowed flourish with,
pockets of fly plots,
misleading labyrinth,
convoluted and intricate,
shady, cagy, fly-by-night,
side routes veering off,
adding riddles shadowy,
step by echoe’d step,
in hair-raising soundscape,
rushes of exhilaration,
stoke and fire,
iridescent wonderland,
escape into mythic mists,
entwined flames of romance,
laced with sumptuous,
dream moon flotillas,
a swooning heart march past,
yet I bystander engrossed,
by segue after segue.
Written: August 12, 2026 for the PoetrySoup Poetry Wheel Contest.
Poetry Wheel Challenge:
Theme: Ocean
Emotion: Angry
Color: Gold
Season: Harvest
Form: Villanelle
Object: Lantern
Verb: Break
Frantic ocean crashes through glowing gold,
A lighthouse hangs where harvest darkness falls;
Autumn rising tides break in, harshly cold.
It clutches the coast, vexing to be told,
While amber arcs scale as a blazing wall;
Frantic ocean crashes through glowing gold.
The lantern shakes, its little flame grown bold,
As blackened clouds descend beyond the squall;
Autumn rising tides rush in, harshly cold.
Midnight mist is sumptuous to behold,
And shattered shells sit speckled by the fall;
Frantic ocean crashes through glowing gold.
Yet thru tempest, the lamp is still in hold,
A shimmering star shines against the pall;
Autumn rising tides rush in, harshly cold.
No storm retains the flame from growing old;
No sea can silence every distant call;
Frantic ocean crashes through glowing gold,
Autumn rising tides rush in, harshly cold.
Disclaimer: This poem is intended to be humorous...no ill intent or pointing fingers at anyone's poetic style
I am ink~
itchy ideas, insisting
every phrase feels plush,
stuffed with swirling, shimmering syllables.
My poem puffs up like a preening peacock of consonants,
a silly, spiraling storm of sounds
stampeding across the page in showy shoes,
tripping over their own tangled tresses
turning simple thoughts into sonic fireworks,
I still scribble on,
a stubborn servant of sumptuous speech,
savoring each soft, spiraled sparkle
even though the poem pleads for peace
from my persistent, passionate, perilously plentiful alliteration.
Did I hear a voice,
say this is your day,
a goodwill whisper,
this golden nugget,
prompt from universe,
intuition en route,
hints and tints,
colour my world,
eye for compass,
point or option,
railway of prospect,
charge down tracks,
dazzling sunshine,
sumptuous clouds,
standing in porch,
hub of heartbeat,
waving at neighbours,
eyes so expressive,
my deepest wish,
continue hearing,
that magic voice
Your neon rose glows
with a soft voltage of electric ache
in the midnight forest
of love's keepsake kiss,
I pinch and pull your velvet moist petals
with a gothic lust to let loose
an aroma of sweet crystal frost,
I cusp You from underneath the bloom
and you tighten with a quick breath
then yeild with a sumptuous sigh,
on my eager mouth you tickle
smooth and warm,
the curves of your lips capture my soul,
you press me into your ultra violet core eternal,
within you there is a heat, a raw fuel,
I am yours, on the edges of tender alarm
and alive beyond death's riddle -
J.A.B.
Myopic muddle
as beauty swirls
hues of heaven
yet bypasses
static statues that
pose as sentient
beings beknighted
dawn’s divine dream
seen as bland mirror
on ebbing eyewash
cathartic colour is
a universal uplift
even for low level
lustrous earth dweller
Immersed in skewed slant
I bandy icicled retort
as though taut timing
ever swayed rigid
stone age postures
elysian echo a speck
in azurite caves
to auditory aloofness
allied to blinkered
whim ‘s wanton
plight with dull
and dim twist
dispersed among
trivial terrains
alienation personified
vessel vacuous and void
rehabilitation of
the wayward faculty
a burst balloon blip
outsider ostracised
from gilded gardens
and sumptuous bloom
of ripe recrudescence
still limp laggard
on hackneyed cue
might yet stumble on
the fig of wakening
It’s been far too easy
for far too long.
Getting dark so early
innate instinct was able to rest.
Now with rising debauchery
teeth flashing in first light,
we have risen and we’re hungry.
Armed with a charisma so strong
prey comes to us sumptuous and needy.
Rebel woman I know you are burnt out,
don’t ever think that we cannot see you.
There is nothing that is further from true.
Listen, feel the echo inside your shout?
Set it off let that rage cause a blackout,
you’ll find others that share every value.
Rebel woman
exhaustion rapidly fuels you with doubt.
With bravery belong to something new
paint the sky a sumptuous shade of blue.
You inspire and that’s what it’s all about,
rebel woman.
The slowest taste of perfect lips,
a french twist on sweet devotion.
Savor every ounce of passion,
careful with those sumptuous drips.
You’ll fall harder as your heart skips,
with that staunch lament explosion.
The slowest taste
becomes more intense with fine nips.
Locked within my future’s vision
repeating now with this motion.
Nothing quite like when a storm rips,
the slowest taste.
Beware dear mousey
cat D is stalking
primed to pounce
and visit devastation
upon your nest
of velvet down.
I've plinthed my claws;
a linen napkin
is coiled
round my neck
to mop red gravy
and sumptuous fat
when they dye
my twitching whiskers.
So, nestle close
little mouselings
make haste to scurry!
Black velvet night
diamanté lustrous glow
sumptuous V neck dip
enchanting lush graced serene
Dramatic gown
Coco Chanel garnets glint
palatial swooning art
indelible presence haunt
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
[Contest : Texture of Minimalism
Sponsor Nette Onclaud
17.11.25 : 4th Placing : Standard Contest
________________________
Perfect Poet is not narrator but created
Piercing the heart of listener or reader
with poetic touch in emotive beauty.
Might be specified as a poet’s duty.
Poem must sparkle in mind of reader as gem.
The poet should hold that spirit to carry his aim.
Poem to resonate with rhythm of heart and soul
Unspoken syllable to voice for perception.
Looking at a log on ground, a guy may say
‘ dry piece of wood is lying in front of me ‘
but a poet may say ‘bough has lost life and lustre.’
That’s the observation on perspective of poet.
The statement ‘Some one has finished sumptuous meal,
leaving no remnants ‘ will be adorned , if a poet adds
‘ Even ant is weeping, while walking on empty plate.’
That’s the poetic touch on muse , using metaphor.
‘
Loud sparks that go pop,
beauty clicks on my ink.
Blood orange collision,
my stanza’s becoming
a sumptuous vision.
Loud sparks that go pop,
the heat throws me a bone.
I’m writing by the fire,
playing a game of words.
Smoke’s spiraling higher.
Loud sparks that go pop,
a fresh line comes to me.
I’ve worn this rhyme before,
just without lines of ash.
The style’s mine to explore.
Loud sparks that go pop,
now I’ve got a feeling
this may just resonate.
Warm verses woven could
hold them past clickbait.
Sumptuous rasp to die for,
utterly mouthwatering sound.
Say it just a little bit softer,
under the cover of midnight.
Run your tenor through my hair,
reveal the soprano within me.
Unpack all that is harbored,
saying it low with a susurrus.
Sub Categories
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