The writ barks
and bellows diktat
iron cudgel poised
to macerate multitudes
for the folly
of one man
who sings flat
plays his game
amid howling hordes
and rises valiant
in the storm.
A nobler theme needs more sublime art
In order to its honorable nuances impart;
And thus may famous muses of niftier writ
More tastefully craft this little lyrical script.
And if generous gods of superior rhyme there be,
Who with pure ease mellifluous tunes compose,
Then may such these tottering lines indite with me
And delve deep where rarest musical gems repose.
Where do love’s purest pearls lie
Beneath this bland ancient sky;
Where hug and kiss their warmest
Elusive touch pulsate at its best?
Truth is maimed and denied its form
And falsehood has become the norm;
Who knows any place she still thrives
Wholly unsevered by knavish knives?
And hope no longer blossoms
As it did in sweeter days of yore,
Now she’s worn out to the bottoms
And angst and doubt rule to the core.
And peace completely extinct is:
Chaos and strife now carry the day
And gallivant about in their hubris,
As mourning sufferers tearfully pray.
Lessons Writ in the Silence of Roots
(in nature dwells the tender art of healing)
No root proclaims the labour of its stay,
Nor boasts of strength that holds the tree at bay;
It works unseen, where patience learns its trade,
And anchors life beneath the noise of shade.
The deepest growth avoids the open air,
And shuns the urge to prove what stands out there;
It presses down where pressure tempers will,
And learns its worth by learning to be still.
No root demands the seasons bend its way,
Nor curses frost that makes it pause and stay;
It answers weight with grip, not grievance loud,
And meets obstruction humbly, firm, unbow’d.
What heals the tree is not the leaf’s display,
But what persists when leaves have blown away;
The unseen holds when surface beauty flees,
And loss instructs what strength must come to be.
So stand like roots—no witness, no demand—
And hold what lives by understanding land;
For growth that lasts is rarely taught aloud,
But writ where time and silence are allow’d.
The poem I writ
Just didn’t fit
I wondered what
To do with it
I folded it
With creases tight
Launched it high
Gave it flight
It circled high
Into the sun
I wept, crying
What have I done
And yet I think
I set it free
By separating it
From me
It took but a bit
But used my good wit
To write what I writ
I'll try to use couth
And write about truth
Be it black or white
Be it wrong or right
It's just what I write
By chance I wrote wrong
What's writ all along
Then, I'll sing your song
And let me be bold
That truth could be told
It may not be true
According to you
It's your point of view
I writ a pome that shocked the teachers
Knocked the collars off the preachers
Awoke those sleeping in the bleachers
Then I wrote another one
Made it funny just for fun
It ended ‘fore it was begun
My pencil, such a heavy weight
My lines all crooked, never straight
I cast my lines, as wormless bait
Then someone said: “I liked your poem”
“it took me places I can’t roam”
I said: “thank you” and floated home
Now I have stacks of yellowed pages
I am more prolific than the sages
For poetry inside me rages
So, write you pencil toting fool
A rhyming verse to make them drool
For poetry is but a tool
To glorify a fallen tree
A shipwrecked vessel lost at sea
The hearts of poets now set free
a bud seeds...
it's sprout form
and bud-ism...
is growth shaping
into a buddhist...
bud and flow-air
stans sand
to be oldt fashioned...
at a fun-near-all
are some relative-at-tea...
with at least two people
knot-met since...
some long gone time ago
andt now under...
standing-smiles
lies a hum-our-being...
echoing lightly in
a wise-dome...
of minds
stans sand
February or Feb-u-ary
Tooz-day or Tee-use-day
Wends-day or Wednesday
Say 'em like you mean 'em
else you'll demean 'em
I writ a poem it sounded good like rhythmic crackling burning wood.
John G. Lawless
12/4/2022
I writ it, re-writ it
settled back and said
“I did it!”
I posted it
When It was done
Said “I’ll not write
Another one.”
I sat ecstatic
Feeling drowsy
Relieved cuz no one
Called it lousy.
My pencil said
“you’ve hit your mark”
“now go and hang it
In the dark”
The critics “faved”
But here’s the rub
I listened to
that pencil stub
now my poems
ride on the wind
without beginning
without end
John G. Lawless
©8/15/2022
In sundry ways deaf to your zeal
Which foxy whims fruitless sway,
My wandering self did finally feel
Pearliest sparks of your legit ray.
Inured by bestial blinding decoys
Which easiest-faring limb obeys,
I did heed a deluding artful voice
That upon artless hearers preys.
For want of fine wholesome sense
Which your ancient anthems teach,
My guessing soul staggered tense;
Serf to a brutish debauching leech.
Yet now have my penitent eyes
At last gleaned your folios wise,
And found therein priceless wit
Sublimer than sage magi's writ.
Fit and faulty
Bitter and salty
Disguising and disgusting
Stingy and wingy
Doubtful and disputed
Shameful role of Police.
Q.IG Inam ghani g, If no one can be above the law and constitution
then why your actions are opposite of your claims?
Note.You are what you do, not what you say you will do.
Couplet,
ilm hazaar kitaban parhyan Tay digriyan chaki phiran hazaar,
Banday qanoon sab toor sutan ay aap apni Sarkar.
canythingrowhereveroseshowhatillsoilsweetoneseasonedelights
(whathecknotsuchhalfbackedialoguebriouscriptogether)
stan sand
A Broken Writ
Nothing inside, nothing to write
Empty within with no insight
Groaning in soul to express
Bottled up, nothing to address
Thoughts mangled, running wild
Broken as a lonesome child
Uninspired and nothing to say
Bowing, in my need to pray
Give me the words so to touch
A loving soul in need of such
Phrases of power to confound
Where passions of hope be found
Lift me from this horrid despair
From my heart, I need to share
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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.