when you lose track of time and life starts slipping away
arilus . caliculus and cyclopia complain that the cheeseboard is to zesty but they are impious from brewing wineberry ! their in psychoanalytic reform
(Weekly Magnetic Poetry Challenge • August 17–23, 2026)
how much is too much?
thirty pallets on a truck
fifty trucks per day
her make up could have been much finer
the powder accented her purple eyeliner
she paraded past a farmer and a miner
is that make up or does she have a shiner?
Yes at thirteen, if you’re not a forty-niner
You don’t need your under eyes to have black eyeliner
But we do not say anything, because thirteen is a whiner
At supper we all keep our mouths shut at the clown-like diner
I think I had a bit too much. To drink last night.
I thought I saw my ex. Eating my apple pie.
Did he sneak in. Through my open window?
Or does he still have a key. To my front door?
I caught you, I think. Now what are you going to do?
Caught you red-handed. I wondered why my baking
Was going missing...Or was it all a dream?
they told me.
So, I made
an intentional effort
to keep a vow of silence
for 5 minutes.
It didn’t work.
I laughed.
Actually, I cackled,
and not quietly
at nothing,
just my vow
of attempted silence.
She has too much color to be a witch
What do you think a witch is? I asked this moron.
Someone horrible, ugly, bad, crazy, mean, terrible, sad.
I wondered if I wanted to waste my time on his education.
A witch is a person who practices Wicca.
And they worship the devil, the idiot said.
Now I knew I did not want to waste my time, so I walked away.
Now i ask all humble.!!! You might just suppose.? That for an instance.' The situation a'rose.' Like its namesake does
From dug dung.' Fragrant and pleasing to
The nose..Also to
( the three who are yet one!)
I ask you just suppose? That some
Judges who are older.? And well versed at
Legal things..Maybe even generals.? If only
Two t'would be a thing! Mayors and police
Captains, and buisness folk at large spoke out that they craved for better.' In their land
And in their towns in their streets and on the borders, from New York to county down, from Melbourne to
Montenegto..Kinchaza to
Beijing town.. From Moscow to Montreal.. No more vanity as of kings.? Here I will mention Maria Farmer and Fiona Barnet too..As why did i not mention the FBI.? As i call
Invessantly for some to come through..)
I heard cries
saw swarms of fist
crack heavens walls
I knew at a ripped age, how
and how not to be.
Nights, I held these ears closed
in hopes to drown this house
that shook like an earthquake.
I learned to pick up clouds of
body parts that lingered from
stormy rains
I wiped mirrors clean with bleeding
hearts, stuck in sunken repeat.
Thorns pricked these tiny fingers
as I placed mishaps of I Love Yous
in glass jars.
I saw my mothers pinched face in a
constant contortion of why's, masked
by pleasing smiles to ease the thunderstorm
I was nine picking up shattered formalities
calling dysfunction normal
I remained quiet, hid in cupboards that
were dollhouses
But, the floods that consumed her washed ashore
and these ears were now home to roars that once
echoed in her room
for quiet society
(the one who told me
to be
a good woman…)
I worked too hard
for too little.
I got too little
for too much.
I broke my brain
trying to understand
life
and its abyss.
I'll set my submarine
of meaning
out at dawn.
I’m alive today
I’m grateful
for being
and not
labeling
me
One day, a little boy whispered a wish—
to see his future in a mirror of truth.
The heavens listened... in silence.
And when the moment finally came,
he looked—
just once.
The mirror didn’t scream,
it didn’t cry—
it simply shattered into silence.
And the boy?
He never disappeared...
he just stopped being who he was.
Because some futures, once seen,
don’t leave you the same.
It stood alone potbound on a ledge -
wild and unapologetic.
This proud,presumptuous flower
would wince
at the very prospect of a pollen grain molest,
or of an admiring glance -
taking it whole root to tip.
In the raw of a nature manifest.
And so it remains
anti-social,uncaring,arrogant.
Forgetting how to share itself.
Certainly no flighty sort
dare pollinate this flower
or scoop its nectar gone sour.
For its active role in creation -
better dead!
Without tribute,too much alone -
it withers gradual in a heap.
Its only spouse - the soil
in bountiful riches once more,
absorbs the last dissolving leaf.
Inaction - no falsifying now!
Forgotten without trace,without love.
they say
I am too much
Too emotional
Too romantic
Too hopeful
Too full of love
But the truth is
They were only
Ever prepared
For women who make themselves smaller
my mother says I feel too much
like it is a flaw
like love
should be measured
With teaspoons
not oceans
She cannot understand
how I carry entire skies
Inside my ribs
And call it
Living
Turn the light, let’s live a little
It’s a decent way to be
We are modest kind of people
Sitting calmly, drinking tea
Everything looks quite the same
As it was for many years
Politicians play war games
Intellectuals spread fears
Gardeners enjoy the trimming
Fishermen get lost in sea
Dancers dancing, singers singing
Idlers walk along the quay
Everyone’s where they should be
Or at least it seems as such
Counting out you and me
We’re a little bit too much..
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.