There is no refuge from this deluge
From their devil may care subterfuge
As psychotic as the thugs "in Bruges"
A slippery spicy slope a dicey icy luge
Endless eddy goes down the centrifuge
Climate crushing & not blushing rouge
Each greedier leader a corporate stooge
Seedier media with the facts a scrooge
Northern hemisphere countries take turns
Flames rage for an age everything burns
Chances for change government spurns
Bigwig gig still earns while society churns
For peace we yearn but no lesson learns
Clear concerns the future is ashes in urns
Winter flies long after
the skies drain; of blooms that still
carry her wings, memory though
s n o w f a l l i n g
the white sail bloom of her eyes; but
knowing browns inevitable; vines take turns tripping
the pale staircase outside, neither really going upward
at all; e v e r
moving within, clinging boughs; perched on my new lichen
flesh, fasts a sparrow with still winter-full stomach;
she says with the fear of a child
...s t a y h e r e
The clouds turn black, a bruised and heavy sky
A sudden gust of wind takes the leaves up high
The animals scurry on as the birds start to fly
The rain starts to patter like a summer in July
A thunder breaks out like a crack of the whip
Lightning strikes close, it makes your heart skip
A flood slowly rises as the ceiling starts to drip
The roof’s about to collapse like a capsizing ship
The winds take turns howling in despair
The lawn decor’s getting tossed up in the air
The rain blows sideways as it cuts and it tears
Mother Nature throws a fit of elemental scares
The warm sun is gone, only gray clouds remain
The silent aftermath leaves only fear and the pain
The effects of a storm that ominously reigned
This tempest leaves its mark like a holy bloodstain
How peaceful is the snowglobe village
resting in its protected place
high atop grandpa’s knicknack shelf,
the one he keeps out back in his private space
The woodshop smells like new cut cedar
while the old radio plays jazz-time concertos,
outside the birds take turns at the feeder
and grandpa tells stories of days in the village.
He remembers the names of children at play
and the brook as it rambled and babbled nearby,
he said he’d go back but the village was razed
then pavemented over for a super-highway.
Mental ants.
Sleepy, creepy, all trembling.
They are like tickling.
Or manifestations.
Ants are alive sometimes.
They take turns being alive.
Sometimes they eat.
So they’re weird.
My mental ants.
Make me as antsy as an apple pie.
Splattering on the ground.
Manifestations.
Sometimes I have dreams about puffs of light air.
They hurry away.
Mental screaming.
If I were broken into pieces:
Each piece of me would grow little antsy legs and antennae.
But also disintegrate at the same time.
That’s all that’s left.
Specks that are resilient.
Training my ants to be helpful.
It makes it worse.
They tell me it’s not possible.
To grow.
Like things that grow.
Mental screaming.
Nothing splatters like it used to.
They don’t try.
Ants on my mind.
Are more than riddles.
But less than real.
Next time I’ll manifest something useful.
Mental ants.
They are more resilient than I’ll ever be.
Why are we fighting
Why can't we sit down like before
And take turns to hear each other
Or we're so out of love that we can't hear anymore
Why are we fighting
Why does it feel like you've got something to say
Have you been suffering all alone
And now you plan to actually be alone
Cause if you'd only lay it on me
And looked me in the eye
You know I'm hurting too
And the silence is hurting me too
You might think I'm fine
But I'm just being a man
I can't let you see the little boy in me
Whose afraid to lose you
How about you wait for a second
Instead of rushing out at the first chance
Or are you afraid of what they'll say
Cause I've been in a room just me and you and we had a nice night
I'll start by saying how sorry I am
Cause you a flower, delicate
And I should have understood you more
But know my feelings haven't changed
I'd hope to hear you tell me
That you are not drifting
You're just floating in your thoughts
And that you wanna hold it down with me
The PO£T
my best friend knows my stories, has my back, laughs with me
He and I share two dogs, they are our babies, Maxie and Maddy
We are silly enough to call ourselves their mommy and daddy
Been together for fifty-seven years, my best friend and me
My best friend misses me when I am gone, which is a rarity.
We are evenly matched in wit and wisdom, in complete parity.
My friend and I both have hazel eyes and dark hair, but I dye mine.
We take turns napping now, because babies want one up all the time.
There are so many reasons that I love my best friend, impossible to choose.
He knows me better than anyone else; can find anything I misplace or lose.
Knows what foods to buy, so he does the grocery shopping.
He also does the laundry, this man is a dynamo who is forever hopping.
We can finish each other’s sentences,
so claim we are redundant all the time.
I guess the best thing about my best friend
is that since 1968 he has been mine.
Pots & Pans
We see on the net a dust bowl of horror called Gaza
people with remarkable pots and pans begging for
food around an open kitchen; the thought is, do they
keep the poets and pans so clean, do they take turns
licking clean any vestige of nourishment of the said
utensils, which tells me there is a Palestine under
the ruins and there will always be a Palestine, if not
Today, but tomorrow it will be the day the flag will
hang from every ruin, free of Israel's hatred, and
endemic caused by the malicious influence of the USA
From the time America was influenced by the people
of the Old Testament
Masters of War, Artist: Bob Dylan,
Album: The Freewheelin' Bob Dylan,1963
-----------------------------------------------
rifles, shotguns, LMGs
drones, satellites, AIs
bombs, missiles, pathogens
you have improved
you have improvised
you target fire and forget
this is not planet
for the living or for life
it is for the wicked
freaks take turns
for digging mass graves
soak earth with pure blood
stop mayhem, pay heed
there is no second chance
for earth or for you or for us
there is no second chance
once dead and for unborn
stop killing, leave and let live
How do I know what true love is?
Is it the effervescent warm glow?
Is it the loyalty and respect of masters pup?
Is it the fire of passion that waves uncontrollably?
Is my love truly in love with me?
How do two people to love each other equally?
Do they take turns like musical chairs?
Do they have to complete each others thoughts?
Do I need to always communicate the good and bad?
Do I need the love my woman as much as she loves me?
How does true love evolve over time?
Can it remain a flame despite being on cruise control?
Can it get stronger through pain?
Can I lose it and regain it like losing my phone?
Can I trust the one I have store my love to keep?
"Tell me, Purple, do you envy your sisters?
Do they envy you in the shy morning mist? "
“Pink-Dawn and Day-Blue, both cheerful and pretty,
paint the wide sky in sunlit visions.
I bruise the clouds and make them weep
with rain - to turn the grasses green.
I envy them not, nor they me.
We each take turns to paint the scene.
And sometimes, at the edge of days,
see us together: Purple, Pink and Blue and Gray!”
The dark sky stretches across the heights.
Overcast clouds roam, late at night.
The round moon does not reveal its rays.
The snow on the peaks may melt away.
In the morning, the sparrows fly joyfully,
Plucking flowers and perching in the trees.
A pair of wild doves appears sad and silent,
While blackbirds search for worms with talent.
Spring flowers bloom along the front fence,
Like a group of teenagers practicing a dance,
Watching the rain play in the new season.
The small leaves will take turns next month.
The spring blends both sad and happy
It is a rule that governs human society
There is a desire for couples to despise
Thus, we all change from time to time
Step forth
Time to speak
Take a part
Take part
Practice
Take the microphone
Step forth
Enter your arena
What you’ve been waiting for
You have the floor
and choices
Speak up?
Speak clear?
Let your face fill with cheer
In that moment
of change
your brain’s rearrange
you will like it
I promise
and will relish
the next time
you step up
Don’t become cocky
but be brave
and confident
cocksure but balanced
Bold
then settle back
and let the next voice
take over
Don’t be jealous
if they do it better
What is better?
We take turns
remember -
you learned that
in Kindergarten
We all have a part
to practice
in this life
Let us be a member
of mankind
and kind for that matter
As teacher gets into her class
Pupils make incessant noise
She asks all to keep quiet and listen
But they talk louder, fidgeting extends
Does this chaos cry for more patience?
She begs them to continue talking
To move around, no more learning
Tell their parents what they do in a day
Just idle, break school rules and play
With mouth shut, silences display.
Comes a father with her cute daughter
Her unceasing melt-down is horrible
Sparks in him his last sort of control
By crying out loud rolling down the floor
She halts to think, “Is dad a complete fool?
He says, let’s cry loudly and take turns
Cries of two bring thunder for lightning burns
Her daughter stops then sobs
Father hugs her daughter with love
Then ride back home in their pedicab.
Words like butterflies take wings,
As we open our mouths to sing.
Voices soft or loud and clear,
Sharing thoughts for all to hear.
Choose your words with gentle care,
Like picking flowers sweet and fair.
Speak with kindness, truth, and grace,
Light-up smiles on every face.
Take a breath before you start,
Let the words flow from your heart.
Enunciate each syllable,
Make your meaning knowable.
Listen first, then have your say,
Take turns in a friendly way.
Pitch your voice to soothe the ear,
Neither shouty nor unclear.
Paint pictures with your phrases bright,
Bringing stories to light.
Ask questions, seek to understand,
Building bridges across the land.
Speaking is a wondrous art,
Connecting mind to mind and heart to heart.
So raise your voice and play your part,
Let your words make a brand new start.
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.