ya'll heard the one
about and and gal
kissing on Christmas day
her Husband comes along
said whats going on
get from neath that misletoe
unhand my wife
darling let call it a night
Mister just let her go
then he balled up his fist said
I'll hit you with this
leave my gal alone
grab your rags
pack your bags
Fella it's time to go
I aint wrong for quick cheeky peck
ya'll been sliding tougunes
and you got your hands all
on her ass
aint airin out my lungs
cause i'm wrong
cause you damn well know
I'm right
take your jacket off
let's go out side
time for us guys to fight
bizzy me
you wiff my Gal
well that aint like I planned
see I'm her Mister
don't get it twisted mister
you egging for ah fyte!
In its special serpentine style too deep to fathom
while submersed beneath I was surprised to see
the world's second most venomous reptile
a striped Dubois' sea snake swim by me
when forewarned of dangers quirky lurking in the deep
altho' arriving suitably attired with fins mask and snorkel
it was sufficient to almost scare me out of my diving skin
so severe as to make my heart skip flip or turn turtle
but being bold brave of heart and fleet of flippered-foot
swiftly did I surely doggy-paddle safely away
tho' no harm was done to me a close call or so it seemed to be
which I survived to recount alive here on this another day
He was carved as a man of distinction~
white brows arched like winter feathers,
a handlebar moustache curled with practiced pride,
vest gleaming with gold-coin buttons
that caught lamplight the way old stories do.
In one hand he holds a dollar-marked bag,
in the other he lets coins dangle,
as if weighing the worth of a life
he never fully lived.
But the truth sits in the strings.
They rise from his wrists and shoulders,
thin as whispers, taut as old debts.
Someone above him, unseen, unnamed~
decides when he walks,
when he pauses,
when he performs his polished little bow.
Some say the puppeteer is a banker long gone,
still tugging at fortunes from the shadows.
Others claim it’s time itself,
pulling every creature forward
whether they wish to move or not.
But the marionette knows better.
He feels each tug, each small command,
the way an old man might feel weather
settling into his bones.
Sometimes the strings go slack for a moment~
just long enough for him to wonder
what he’d do with those coins
if the choice were finally his
and not something pulled from above.
Penny Lane is dead
They all said
Took her out back
Gave the Aussie a shovel attack
Later shots were heard
Witnessed only by the nocturnal birds
Observing the murder go down
After bullets made the deadly sound
Companions who party
Should be a little more smarty
Since someone could drug the cupcakes
Served by the friendly fake
When she was baked
But true love
Watching from above
Saw the couple
Facing trouble
Working together
Fighting the hatred weather
Brought Penny Lane back
Who suffered a shovel attack
Now alive
Penny Lane grabbed the cycle wings ride
Big girls they did sing
Knowing one thing
They evened the score
Winning the war
Despite wearing facial gore
Penny Lane next time you meet
Enjoy the celebration sweets
With a true mate
A holiday worthy date
Especially when you both defend
Not needing any blokey men
Even to myself I avoid to show
My begging for all kinds of troubles to go
Far away, so far where they’d never be seen
Then I’d feel relieved, on your sill I’d lean
Looking at your garden and the green field
On a clear day when the Coombe Hill
Becomes visible, maybe we’ll have a stroll
And as usual, a drizzling rain would fall
On our way back, we return soaking wet
And the sun peeks out just before it sets
Switch the telly on, what’s the news they tell
Nothing good for today, and tomorrow as well
So we’re off to the garden, to smell the flowers
Under the spell of the magic hours..
It feels good
to
discover
new poems
which is
exactly why
distracting me
will usually
always
result in
my distance
though I still
always wish
fellow writers
inner peace
and serenity
and all
the very best
as they try
to explore
their hearts
and minds
with
the power
of
their
words.
One day he'll be gone.
You'll say don't know where, nor care.
Even though by dawn
I'll have made you be the one
Who buried him under there.
A whisper, a mere breath ~
tenderness in its many forms.
AP: Honorable Mention 2026
If you have to ruin me,
don't do it under kitchen lights
or in parked cars
or over phone calls filled with silence.
Take me somewhere the sky is endless.
Somewhere the stars
have been dying for years
without anyone noticing.
Let me look up at something ancient,
something that understands
how beautiful things can disappear.
And if this is the ending,
if I have to lose whatever version
of me still believes in forever,
then let it happen there.
Because I think
I'd rather break apart
Beneath constellations
Than inside another room that forgets
Under Our Sun:-
Nothing ever grows without the rain
There can be no movement without change
You see under the sun but not before it comes
You can sell your soul for the dollar like all the other ones
Walk with the army knocking on the doors of your sons
Death will always come to those who point the gun
Peace shall never be if we do not see what we’ve become
Just another dead man lying on the floor who didn’t run
What happens after we’re all buried in our graves?
It will never change how the en fool behaves
Underneath our sun all remains the same
It’s about time we realise we are to blame.
Blue is the color that fills your room every time.
Waiting for my train; l lied to my mom.
Brown is the color of your eyes that I fell in love with.
My heart was broken, how did you fix it?
We're lying on your couch.
"Home alone" and gentle touch.
Midnight; the Christmas tree
And your hot, sweet black tea.
You warm me with your hands,
I kiss your perfect face and...
I wanna dance with you in the rain or snow,
In very worst heat or great storm.
You caught me when I was falling (down).
I'm so afraid of being alone now.
Green is the color of my eyes that you look into
every time I come to your town.
Black is the color of my T-shirt, that smells like you,
Now it's in the air when I think of you, babe.
Small pizza;"I care a lot"
Boy I know what you want.
Our photos on your phone.
Scarlet marks on collarbone.
You hold my hands till they're warm.
The world's gray, but we are golden.
I wanna dance with you in the rain or snow,
Even if they say it is wrong.
You caught me when I was falling (down).
My whole world is you and I.
SANCTUARY SALE
EPSTEIN ABUSERS NO JAIL
JUSTICE SYSTEM FAIL
He was the last of forty-four.
Educated killers in clean boots.
The best, they said, then broke.
Forty-three went into stone.
Into fluorescent burrows, teeth bared.
They fought until numbers meant nothing.
Then only one kept breathing.
It should have been two survivors.
We flipped a coin, like drunks.
One takes tags, letters, names.
The other stays with the sun.
A fusion bomb, hand-detonated.
I don't know if I won. I'm alive, still, technically speaking. But the room eats silence whole.
Shadow screams behind my ribs.
I turn around, you're there.
Cigarette trembling in cheap ash.
Then I blink; you're gone.
Dreams lie like bar mirrors.
They show you, then sell you.
I searched alleys of sleep.
Your name slipped through my fingers.
When it was time, you vanished.
To prove some brutal splendor.
I never bet on miracles.
I miss you before knowing.
Like hunger, beginning with b.
Tense weaves under the light ceiling
Wind comes to sweep the vague emptiness
Short and thin trail
Silently weaving our thread
No one notices the shine
Almost invisible in the hand
Spinning the trail of fate
Dust turns into a song
We are of pure silk
Born from fatigue and tenderness
Breathing through the cracks
Where the light throws its parties
Thread by thread
Cold white
Sun touches the ends of the paper
Tangled sky falls
Light flight without a hat
Everything beautiful soon fades
No one notices the shine
Almost invisible in the hand
Thin trail of fate
Dust turns into a song
We are of pure silk
Born from fatigue and tenderness
Breathing through the cracks
Where the light throws its parties
Thread by thread
Cold white
Weightless
Without any trace
Silk that disappears
Changes its name
Forgets to be
We are of pure silk
Born from fatigue and tenderness
Breathing through the cracks
Where the light throws its parties
Thread by thread
Cold white
Buchenwald Bergen Belsen Belzec Auswitz Birkenau..Advertized as kibutz
Camps 1940 s designs, live now as this
Ages macarb'e museums, attractions of
Evil madness i find.' Generating payments
That get siphoned to wars.' They are temples to manna, steeped in past agonys..Into current atrocitys i am almost
Sure.? I am not reflecting on Jews far and
Near for there will be many who are not guilty of ultra earthly zionisam, yet i realize there is more, i see a satanic circle
Of distinct groups nominally Christian Jewish Islamic Hindu Buddist Zen under
satan..In cahoots each sect stirrs its followers to cause some bad event, then its the turn of another.' This way they circumvent.? Discovery of their methods
The public perception is always skewed..az they melt in and out of the shadow world that enables their attacks
On you.' Or whoever they next intend to do.!
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.