Hey, I like that thing you did
That post was freakin’ good
I’d give it twenty million Likes
And frame it if I could
Where’d you get the idea from?
Man, it was INSPIRED
I’m glad you put it up online
Where it can be admired
That thing deserves to be shown off
I’m telling everyone
You pulled it off most expertly
I mean it: Nicely done.
The news provide harsh lessons.
I was so naive about politics & politicians.
It's not about creating a better world.
Where did I ever get that idea?
AP: Honorable Mention 2026
So the world without borders was a foolish idea
Poor authorities suffered from disrespect
Our sovereignty we have violated, my dear
Without taking notice we did that
The military industrial complex
Is being revived to standing ovation
Hard times have come, and it’ll be worse
Good job we’re free from further frustration
What a blessed fate, love, to go in due time
Free from their peasant nationalisms
From inane competitions, controlled decline
From taxation of the air we breathe
Back to the garden, as it has been sung
Back to our room with vase on the table
We’re remembered by trees, as forever young
Resting in peace within our fable.
Sure, she’s a bit bawdy but loads of fun
at the old folk’s home, she makes men run
we other women like to see the males flee
then we can get prissy for afternoon tea
she scares me says an old coot named Jed
opinioned and bossy, agrees my cousin Ned
her ideas are outlandish said another male
Giggles waft out of the sunroom; we all love Gale.
On the 7th day of Christmas
it was new year’s eve,
and on that midnight 2025 ended
- just like that -
with the poof of fireworks.
Did we have to rush right into 2026?
No. We could have talked about it,
and come up with a better alternative.
We’ve all seen money
- you know, dollars, euros and pounds - right?
Those little pieces of paper have no intrinsic value
- we all just agree on their worth.
We should've channeled that extrinsic power and agreed on something else,
Like deciding that the year after 2025 would be 2029.
You know, the midnight when 2025 ended - poof - 2029 could’ve begun.
We’re all adults - must we amortize this horrible mistake we made?
Think about it - Donald Trump would’ve been out of the White House in days.
Or is it the ‘Trump-Gold-House’ now?
It’s hard to keep up with CrAzY.
.
.
Songs for this:
That's Me Trying - William Shatner
an idea was born
So we are at the beginning, green ackers
yellow sand , blue sea, all in festive
bright colors except for the rest of a cloud
drifting about looking misplaced
The evening glides into night, but when
morning arrives two body awakes under
a tree, they are the last specimens and
hitherto the best work done by a hand
unknown; that as we later shall hear of
by it its demand to be worship
So, what happened to the less perfect
where they left to populate the imperfect
An idea is an intake of air, a sudden gust of wind awakening
thoughts once dusty, suggestions hidden below cobwebs.
An idea is the putting on of glasses, clarified and cleansed,
cluttered less so now by the daze or malaise of time.
But the choice that follows the idea murmurs.
The choice balks, offering visions of ‘what if?’
and forks in the road. The choice sheds the skin
of the idea. It reveals consequences in bone,
in scale, in claw and print in the dried mud of no going back.
But what of the grey? The grey in between, the grey betwixt?
This sleeps soundly. It yawns and stretches in bed, then
curls around the contentment of that golden idea – yes! –
before the rabbit hole shadows and chasms of the definite.
Stay in that grey middle, this grey before an after, the grey twilight
bridge that holds an idea spawned here, and a choice made, there.
Welcome to the land I own
Sorry that it looks so humble
It’s a flat I call my home
Mind the threshold do not stumble
Ring the bell, and then you’ll see
If there is a green light spot
What a great idea to be
Using avatars we’ve got
All my friends are quiet and smart
Easy going people, look
They unwittingly depart
Disappearing off my book
I didn’t write another chapter
There’s no draft in my archive
Only echoes of your laughter
That reminds you are alive
In the Nowhere land of mine
It’s a shelter from the snow
And of course we have some wine
To enjoy before we go..
India’s caste still decides our dignity—
Not just apathy, but our lived condition,
We react the moment we perceive another’s identity.
The rage of symbols distracts us;
Language flares—
Wounding the non-native.
Our sphere dreams of “Viksit Bharat”,
But it doesn’t rhyme with reality—
We still breathe in the same old Bharat,
With the same claims, yet to combat (discrimination).
As we undergo vicissitudes, knowledge of boundless skies—
Which uplifts us every single time
Like bilingual voices flowing into a multilingual style,
Soaking every vein of mine.
So—educate! Agitate! Liberate!
For in the human rage of this world,
We are sunken in discrimination, differentiation, and segregation;
At every stage.
Come—let us do good, be good,
And stand as one among others.
No idea just what they’re for –
But when I’m held, they touch the floor;
Dad then moves them each in turn
As if there’s something I should learn.
They certainly have a lot of toes,
When I can count, I’ll let you know;
But I can reach them each to wiggle,
Tickling me enough to giggle.
And though I’m chillin’ on my back,
I sense there’s something that I lack,
Can’t wait for whatever may come next –
As life’s comprised of tiny steps.
What If The
Tribal Instinct
Is No Longer
As Evolutionarily
Advantageous As
It Clearly Once Was?
Embrace Us, Oh
Willing Players &
AI Alike...
We Are The
'Non-Players'
Who Cannot
Succumb...
The Neuro-Divergents.
-Gray Squirrel
10-02-2025
The hallowed history of the egg
is the stuff of landmine and powder keg.
For, many an innocent egg has died -
sometimes scrambled, sometimes fried.
The Nobel Prize, I will surely win,
for the egg that cracks only from within.
The revolutionary
The revolution germinated in my womb,
The tenderness and care never negotiated.
The external pressures never an obstacle,
The birth of the world’s most beautiful era bloomed.
Came the dawn of surprises after a storm,
The ship swayed hither to thither.
The fight and insurrection had already begun,
The world’s most beautiful and the strongest life was born.
The trunk was burned and she just witnessed,
Holding the hands of the needy and the swayed.
Detached yet focused, marching to the goal,
With slogans and spirits high she bore in her heart.
Sheltered was she, but the discontent seeped out,
In an urge to reach the pinnacle of the dream,
Reminders and warnings kept she to herself,
To be the spectator and observer of her own play.
Sandhya T.P.
It’s a brand new big idea
The banned country of such size
So I want to make it clear
Either way it looks unwise
Wasn’t Germany at war
In Bach’s time, and wasn’t France
Fighting England till the score
Levelled up by circumstance
But they never used to ban
Scholars travelled, merchants traded
Painters painted, music men
Wrote their stuff while the crusaders
Fought their sacred wars whatever
The high goal was pursued then
But it didn’t seem too clever
In the past, to put a ban
There’s no other meaning to it
But revenge, to make the foe
More outrageous, and they knew it
Now it's what the wars are for.
Do we act a bit like those who have feigned amnesia
Who’s a stranger to their self, in a wider sense
Who have got subliminal mental anesthesia
Living in a fragile shell of the self defense?
If it’s true, all I’ve relinquished better be not known
Though sometimes it does occur without any cause
Makes me wonder why the path should be overgrown
What’s the big idea of this, if it ever was?
But there’s no convincing answer, I apply to you
You should know it all my love, how we came to this
Tell me why should we depend on a changing view
When it looked so constant, sealed with your kiss.
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.