People are sharing in the company “chat”
Way too much information
Things others are reading, they should not know
Sometimes bullying co-workers.
Often hostile messages.
Totally unprofessional.
I am more experienced.
Have learned the hard way more times than the others.
Because I am seasoned.
All written text can and will be misinterpreted.
If you have a beef, pick up the phone and call that person.
Better yet, go see them.
Talk to them belly to belly.
The most ineffective communication is text and email.
Worse, they have proof and can show it around.
A page unturned means the end of the story
For one will never know what came next
Whether it was a disaster, fame, or glory.
We start an adventure through the quarry
Something attracted us to the written text
A page unturned means the end of the story.
Having written it, an author does not worry
To know it happens leaves an author vexed
Whether it was a disaster, fame, or glory.
The writer knows the ending; it’s not blurry
But not finishing it leaves a reader perplexed
A page unturned means the end of the story.
A reader will begin with a determined flurry
But is discouraged by a plot that is complex
Whether it was a disaster, fame, or glory.
Getting to the last page, never be in a hurry
Hopefully, in the process, the mind will flex
Whether it was a disaster, or fame, or glory,
A page unturned means the end of the story.
Written November 26, 2022
Freedom aint Freedom, said the gravelly Voice
the beauty of Freedom is that it gives you a Choice
the symbol of Freedom lies in Old Glory
Normandy, Okinawa, Vietnam and many like Stories
Freedom is more than appearance
Freedom is more than it Seems,
Freedom allows us to live our Dreams
Freedom is Regal like the graceful wings of a soaring Eagle
Freedom is Real-- something we can Feel.
Freedom is something that can be Seen,
Freedom does not have anything in Between.
Freedom comes with a Price, from those who Sacrificed.
Freedom give us Courage,
Freedom is something that needs to Flourish.
Freedom is not a difficult Task,
Freedom gives us the right to Ask.
Freedom is like a burning Flame,
Freedom is something we should all Entertain
Even if Freedom seems simply Complex
its comes from the Bill of Rights a written Text
and from heroes that died in the Past
without them how long would Freedom Last
“A” less Museless Poem
(a lipogram)
How is to be without;
the use of my muse?
Will it be the bedrock
of future thoughts?
Would it be foreboding;
or be more-or-less just.
To shorten this penury;
of my written text.
I need thoughts to flow
from both hemispheres
to the mighty pen.
To be delivered upon
This folio of one sheet
Printed with electronic ink
referent to the book; no
criterion to the tome; no
The proto-dossier; yes
Of mine on going discovery
To plot and etch written
To-morrows upon this my
One sheet of electronic vellum; is
The conundrum to use only 24 letters;
Should be quite the simple feet.
Inside the emptied room for a while.
Like that water bottle stands on the table.
Such a shady room with only one window.
Sunshine so clear, warming the bottle.
That fountain pen on the table,
ink inside already dried.
Placed beside, paper with written text
Ink on paper, already faded.
The fire inside stove, gradually extinguishing.
This is the scene that I fear seeing.
Mikhail.
The Spirit written text does make the call,
Of one Lord supremely over all,
With a secondary purpose in mind,
Of a merciful and a redeeming kind.
All wrapped up in this purpose too,
Could be salvation for me and you.
I ask you now, does this ring true,
Creation made and with good purpose too?
Col.1:16 'All things were made by Him and for
Him' Gen.50:20 (Joseph to his brothers)'Ye
thought evil against me, but God meant it unto
good, to save much people alive' Isa.45:5-7
Isa.46:9-11 Rev.4:11 John.17:2 Jere.18:6
Matt.28:18 Rom.9:21
Music is poetry for our ears.
For our eyes the written text of poetry is what all poets hold dear,
but when the poetry of music is combined with the read poetic text,
the poetry form of a song has been born.
My 3 forms of poetry; Music, Song & Text.
Life is not a game
Not an object to claim
Its a chance, a choice, a path
For us to unfold
And from it wrath
Like the rainbow after a storm
Come treasures untold
So what comes next?
What do I look for?
Cause there is no written text
To lead me safely
Forever more
Lost yet somehow found
I walk blinded, yet not bound
To one particular ornate road
Cause whats here is now
Today is all thats told
On your doorstep once stood
This shadow thinner than clotheslines, just to
Share the verdant lore of its earthly existence
Even if its image was molded from the grains of salt
Nonetheless, it has the proverbial taste for a
Real kinship with all life, as seen in its creative
Expression, somewhat like a sort of written text
Of its tiny palms, sod with
Great charm of nobility, and yet you’ve curved
At the back of its head these doubts, which made
Itself to huddle in solitude, entertaining
The alarming phrases of inferiority that
Nature never taught us
Ah, now I am slaving myself thinking if this
Shadow is still really mine, or am I still his?
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.