Holy spirit you are welcome
In my life
I am stand still
Like a rooted tree
Old like me
Please don't chop me down
Don't I have the right to live?
Why
I am very old
One you cut me down
There won't be another tree
That will replace me
Hooray autumn is on it's way,
the long summer has been way too too hot.
Cooler days are what I want,
with a soft cool breeze covering me.
Pretty leaves falling down,
colors are a patch quilt carpet.
The welcome mat now reads autumn.
A handful of people welcome us into this world
and hopefully,
a quite different handful will see us out.
What happens in between is called life.
swaying tree branches welcome needed rain
I've spread my blanket on the ground beside
the trunk of a majestic willow tree.
I relish how its long, green, wispy leaves,
which almost touch the ground, envelop me.
I watch them swaying in the gentle breeze
as I sit--silent, lost in pensive thought.
As one who feels that solitude can lead
to peace, I've found the perfect spot I sought.
I brought my pen and paper just in case . . .
but suddenly I’m nodding and my eyes
are closing. For a little while, I'll sleep.
Perhaps I’ll write a poem when I rise.
Even in a dark world, you think there is light.
Every time I open my eyes, there's nothing but pain in my sight.
People are hurting, bodies deteriorating, minds going crazy.
Every morning, I wake up and ask God why this has to be?
Babies are getting kidnapped, taken from their homes;
Women jumping out of cars because they're being beaten on.
Families are losing their houses because of wildfires;
The government is making plans, taking food out of our mouths.
The African race is trying to go back to slavery days;
Now they want to end all black everything, taking away our pay.
Freedom is getting hard for illegal immigrants,
Being deported and rounded up by ICE back to their homeland.
It's a pain every day to watch social media or the news.
Every day, someone is getting shot and murdered for public views.
Young kids are getting lazier by the minute;
They just want to be on any platform, shaking their asses for pennies.
Winter kisses the doorstep
with a quiet smile in icy depths;
branches bow low, as if nodding my return,
while frost tiptoes on the windows.
Smoke curls like an embrace—
I breathe it in: warm welcome Home .
writers who prevent me to comment on theirs are welcome to comment
"A true writer must write. Ink is in their veins." By Poet
Writers love their many letters to choose from,
letters turning into words then into sentences.
Poems come from the love of writing,
writing about the past or maybe about the present.
Poems can be true or false,
some will make you cry and others will make you laugh.
The writer and reader are both in love,
in love with letters, words, sentences and reading.
Come home, lost lamb, return home tonight
Lay your soft fleece ‘pon the moonlight
Beyond the fence, wolves and foxes abound
Inside your gate, a sentry-hound
Shares of compliments soar higher
as sellers find eager buyers
Insults plunge to record lows
be they poetry or prose
Shall we see the return of sanity
~ the end of slurs and profanity
Just as the beauty, the love, the radiance all come from within
so does the healing energy of your illimitable self
like an ocean tide that sweeps away all complications
of sinew and nerve.
Nothing can stop the inner power of your soul from emanating
into every molecule of your body, tenderly
undoing every knotted impediment.
The entire cosmos of yourself responds to it
because this is home.
This is your very beginning
and unending fulfillment.
Christopher M. Swan 2011
Welcome to: Hard on Yourself Prison,
Where sentencing is added to every decision.
Driven into vexatious thoughts,
A cycle of emotions, accusations wrought.
Caught in wordy why’s and wherefores,
Redundant objectives only multiplying more.
Questioning the inquisitioner:
Are they a good fibber or an ambiguous listener?
The harshest judge lives within..
To start afresh—where do I begin.
Let’s pack the critical encumbrances that weigh us down..
And loosen every tether that keeps us bound.
Aromatic scents fill the air
Unraveling warm and loving memories
Gentle greetings convey their welcome
Underneath a sky that's glowing
Saffron-coloured hues filling the horizon
Transition well in the twilight
Sultry soulful sentiments sweetly sway
Unfurled and subtly ushered in
Nimbus clouds passing give way
AP: 1st place 2026, Honorable Mention 2026
Unwelcomed Visitor
If Jesus came to see you
Would you open up the door?
Or would you hope He didn't see you
As you crouched there on the floor?
Would you recognize our Saviour?
If He came to you today?
Would you run in joy to greet Him?
Or send Him far away?
Do you hear Him in the shadows?
When He speaks in gentle rain.
When sleep and rest illude you,
And your heart is wrecked with pain?
He is calling, hands extended
Take His hand and feel is touch.
He holds what you are seeking
And He loves you oh so much!
If Jesus came to see you,
Would you answer when He calls?
He is waiting there to help you
He will catch you when you fall.
Through long years he stands there waiting.
Just accept his healing touch.
No one else provides the answers
And He loves you oh so much.
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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.