Our outhouse was attached to the rear of our home.
In times of foul weather, negating any need to roam.
It was all about convenience. Never heated,
permanently air conditioned, and two seated.
It was one of the best and quiet thinking spots.
Because the door lacked a lock or handle slots,
there were occasions when interruptions occurred,
encouraging one to butt out of there inured.
Winter weather could be nasty and cold,
causing meditations to be short, thus quickly unload.
Summer was warm with breezy invasions,
entertaining lingering and tingling sensations.
There was never a need to waste water and flush.
Spreading lime was used to keep nasty fly's from us.
Outside and behind was a sliding door,
Where once a year I was 'encouraged' to explore
and clean our outhouse with pail, rake, and shovel.
A chore that trained me to write poetry and grovel.
Perhaps I'll Know Your Love
Perhaps the light of day comes with a golden ray,
to push the heavy shadows to the side...
Just let me come on home.
Let me finally unload this pain.
Perhaps you'll look past these scars...
and the tears I try so hard to hide,
emotions of a weary soul
hurting deep inside.
Perhaps a life will have love,
not pretending to be...
Every word rolls off the tongue
to carry me, or pull me to your side.
Perhaps someday these pieces will mend,
with reaching arms that can hold
this fragile love that we know.
Perhaps someday my smile no longer fades,
or falls exhausted by my side...
screaming I'm alright.
Perhaps I write these words of love,
praying that you will finally see
the love I've held for you...
Perhaps, someday, I won't pretend to be someone you knew.
Perhaps, someday, you'll love me too.
Debra
The sound of a
Huey
the tick of
a clock
Both signal
a warning
what is and
what’s not
The flight from
DaNang
that hour till
dawn
Your life in
the balance
to die or
hang on
And leave for
the bush
face painted
and dark
Second hand
motion
that tells you
to start
As medics
unload
both the wounded
and dead
The rotors
keep spinning
these moments
— of dread
(Dreamsleep: June, 2026)
If the sun shines on me or if it rains,
if I'm together or falling apart,
on PoetrySoup, I unload my brains,
on other days, unload my hidden heart.
Some days my judgment slowly starts to slip.
I then write on politics, I admit,
or try to get a laugh and lose my grip,
but here, no one calls me an idiot.
The sisters and the brothers on the Soup
who reveal thoughts and feelings in their words
comprise a supportive communal group,
lifting spirits, as from the wings of birds.
Poets like roses, each have their own name,
each different, but yet, each one the same.
In the dead of night
when wolves howl
when grizzlies growl
Coyotes are on the trot
skunks scurry
‘cross empty lots
When the graveyard moans
the gate squeaks
and goblins groan
Why, it’s then that the Muse
taps me on the shoulder
“Now is the time for a poem
Pick up the pen ~ Unload ‘er.”
Probabilities create possibility,
Probably infinite possibilities,
A probable cause making things possible,
Plausible thoughts are unstoppable,
Operable through this modular,
Atoms are making molecules,
Always following certain rules,
Constantly building new tools,
To use in the space you see,
Eternally expanding,
Demanding us to explore,
A story like never before,
Remember what you came for,
Restore balance to the core,
Before you explode,
Unload your stored emotions,
There's so much more to do,
I'm tired of bills being due,
Like a rat chewing walls,
Running when the money calls,
I feel so damn small,
Falling flat on my face,
Crawling in place,
No urge to embrace grace,
Erasing my possibilities,
I'm counting on probabilities,
I've lived several of these,
And in One I heal this dis-ease
OF MIND-BENDING WATERS
In the ocean of mind,
Watering thoughts flow:-
Boarding these thoughts
On the ship of faith,
Let our hearts’ rudder,
Guide us to waves of frothing hope:-
Peacefully arriving and docking
At the wharf of healing grace,
Let us timely, proceed to unload
Our cargo of dismaying pain;
And rejoicing in humbling praise,
Let’s give God glory for safe anchoring:-
Yes—in this present life—we still have
Challenging ocean waters to cross;
But praise Almighty God and the Ancestors,
Ours know no Middle Passages:-
And in the roaring waters of trumping waterfalls,
The Savior shall buoy and navigate us on our way:
Thus, let’s sail on to the shores of justice awaiting us:-
22 activities of the port
The world doesn’t need a poet
To dock a large tug
He doesn’t need an Angolan poet
To unload semi-trailers
The world doesn’t need a poet
To build a building,
he doesn’t need a poet,
To take off an Airbus A 340,
The world doesn’t need a poet
To pick up the trash cans from the port,
For the cranes to be under the containers,
But he needs a poet
To say all this.
No jack-of-all-trades
but master of one
it's safe to say
the combination spun
Jack was a safecracker
had it down pat
and a crackerjack
cracksman he was at that
not a people person
he'd sneak down halls
more a steeplejack
and shinny up walls
jimmy a window
then with stealth
jewels unload
remove the wealth
crack the code
find the fault
turn the tumblers
open the vault
locks he'd smash
break the bank
relieve the loot
of locked stashed cash
I walk into church, a sense of calm I feel, I’m safe here, thus is my home, as I sit down in the pew, I kneel down at your feet, I bow my head to you Jesus, can you hear me?
So many of your children too are coming forth,
we all need to give you our heart, it’s been a week of ups and downs, so many errands to run, kids activities going to and fro, but here we are before you, to circle around your altar, it feels as though we were never apart.
Jesus our beloved Savior, our confidant, my Father I never knew I had, do you remember me from birth, you created me in your liking, you were my right hand, my crutch when I was down.
Jesus, I’m here to unload my heart, in tears as I pray to you, already my sins, my anguish my worries you’ve seen in my heart, it’s only been 54 years, I’m here my Savior to say a simple “thank you” for my blessings, my home, my kids, my husband, with whom you brought into my life, I’m beyond blessed to be his wife.
I’m here Jesus, I ask only one thing of you, “ Give my beloved mom a big embrace for me, she is home with You Jesus, oh what a beautiful sight that must be.
Nothing ahead
but a long straight road
I vent out my feelings,
quite an unload
eerily quiet
except the rustling of leaves
waiting for a response
one that will put me on my knees
Letting anyone have power over how i feel
is something I can never reveal
For some reason I still have hope
my mind wondering down a dangerous slope
That hope eventually subsides
slowly restoring my pride
I look at that invite sitting on my table
It still should be fun
even though I have to change it to a minus one.
Every day it seems a battle,
finds a way to leave you rattled,
the nonsense you see on TV,
lots of lies from the legacy,
traffic jams, can’t work from home,
boss demands, tell his where to go,
just goes on, the price we must pay,
comes a time you must get away!
I want to go off,
let this thing blow off,
the stress I’ll throw off,
I want to go off.
I want to go off,
let this thing blow off,
the stress I’ll throw off,
let this thing explode.
Find the time, bleed it off slowly,
clear my mind of the unholy,
make a plan, or maybe wing it,
find something that I can sink in.
Get a drink, maybe a woman,
take a trip, get up and go then,
some chaos, can be balancing,
feel alive, that’s what I’m wanting.
I want to go off,
let this thing blow off,
the stress I’ll throw off,
I want to go off.
I want to go off,
let this thing blow off,
the stress I’ll throw off,
let this thing explode.
Let this thing explode,
let this thing explode,
let this thing explode…
every man must unload.
Latter life is special. Blessings come when visiting a parent. They are not a burden - those who raised you up, if indeed you had a good one.
My Dad is almost 88 and I am thankful he is still here. He loves his kids to visit, a good meal and is always thankful. I am thankful for him and also my husband who is generous to help me load and unload the car and join in with conversation. It has been 4 ½ years of almost weekly visits.
— by Poet
chatting:::cooking:::cleaning
praying:::eating:::clearing
washing:::gathering:::hugging
three
:::
different
:::
highways
:::
home:::sweet:::home
together:::alone:::separate
time:::goes so:::fast
As I try to wish away, all the sadness that I feel;
As if a night sky's falling star, could grant me something real...
If only one small wish, of what's eluded me all this life thus far;
I'd wish for just some happiness, just a little in a jar;
So I could open as I needed, unload some sadness that I feel
Much like unloading bulky freight,
From a trains overloaded boxcar...
If only I could wish away, all the sadness that I feel,
I'd finish this life with certainty
And a soul full of new found zeal...
Sickness can turn your house into a personal jail
When friends come to visit you use anything as a veil
The moments you lose track of the day and time
If you need medicine you would spend every dime
To pass the time you watch old episodes on Netflix
Eating soup for dinner and inhaling vapors of vicks
It feels like a vacation you weren't meant to enjoy
Your phone, tablet or book becomes your new toy
Every task that you had planned never gets done
Your skin tone begins to change from having no sun
If you're married your mate becomes your waiter
Every sentence is "Honey can you do me a favor"
When you're sick it actually gives you time to unload
But this is your life in a nutshell when you catch a cold
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.