Poetbay.com

in the garden

jim — Tue, 09 Jun 2026 03:56:21 +0100

dianthus

or bunny

never both

relative-ity

anonface — Tue, 09 Jun 2026 01:14:28 +0100

Legends

Melinda K Zarate — Mon, 08 Jun 2026 21:32:14 +0100

I give you two performers:

The first born in wealth
one of five born
to a mom who preached charity
but taught him showmanship,
and a dad who taught him
the importance of dominance.

He took the gifts he was given
which he never worked for,
took his greed and gift for grift
to build his empire,
used aggression as strategy,
words as weapons
stoking division and hatred.

The second born in poverty
four of twelve born
to a mom who sang ballads,
who shared her gift of music,
and a dad who taught her
the importance of hard work.

She took the gifts she was given
with determination and grit
but never with greed or grift,
built a career, a business,
lifted her family out of poverty,
words as wings
advocating for love and acceptance.

They are both legends.
Only one deserves to be so.

To my son by Ann Wood

Ann Wood — Mon, 08 Jun 2026 18:38:12 +0100

Sometimes a mother carries in her heart words that she will never be able to fully say.

My son, my boy, my firstborn son... Today I would give everything just to hug you one more time and kiss your forehead. I'm sorry I didn't do it more often. I'm sorry I didn't tell you every day how much I love you because I believed we had time.

And time turned out to be merciless.

You weren't just my child. You were my pride, my strength, my support. It was the first cry I heard as a mother, my first great joy and you will forever be my greatest pain.

I love you more than words can hold. I love you more than tears can show. And as long as I breathe, you will carry your place in my heart.

I miss you every day. I miss you every minute. I miss you son.

Forever my boy. Forever my firstborn son.

Folding Clothes

Sameen — Mon, 08 Jun 2026 16:08:02 +0100

The Cuckoo

Clara Mae Gregory — Mon, 08 Jun 2026 13:52:22 +0100

OTHERWORD, n.

mickeko — Mon, 08 Jun 2026 13:33:25 +0100

They left out \"The Art of Burping Babies\"

Clara Mae Gregory — Mon, 08 Jun 2026 13:30:42 +0100

[AI sourced]

Burping as entertainment ranges from casual party tricks and funny sound effects to a competitive, performance-based art. Whether driven by swallowing air to recite the alphabet or by drinking carbonated beverages to produce extreme volume and pitch, the act has evolved into a staple of comedic expression.

The cultural and performance aspects of using burps creatively include:

🎤 Performance & Comedic Acts

The Alphabet Game: A classic parlor trick where performers swallow air to release a continuous, modulated burp while reciting all 26 letters of the alphabet.

Musical Burping: Entertainers and voice artists manipulate their vocal cords and throat muscles while expelling air to simulate pitch changes, allowing them to "sing" tunes or hold melodic notes.

Competitive Belching: Events, local contests, and social media challenges celebrate volume, length, and tonal control. Platforms like TikTok frequently highlight challenges where users attempt to beat records or show off unusual sonic feats.

🌍 Cultural Perspectives

While belching is largely viewed as a minor faux pas in Western cultures, it carries completely different social meanings globally:

The Ultimate Compliment: In parts of South Asia and the Middle East, burping audibly after a meal is taken as a sign of deep satisfaction. It acts as a non-verbal compliment to the host and chef, indicating that the food was abundant and delicious.

⚠️ Health & Safety WarningWhen practicing burping on command, it is vital to know your limits. Intentionally swallowing large amounts of air can lead to uncomfortable abdominal distension, painful gas, and acid reflux. If you find yourself burping uncontrollably or experiencing pain, it may indicate a medical condition rather than just a party trick.

Famous Figures in Flatulism

Clara Mae Gregory — Mon, 08 Jun 2026 13:13:43 +0100

\"FLATULISTIC\"

Clara Mae Gregory — Mon, 08 Jun 2026 13:00:51 +0100

To be

mickeko — Mon, 08 Jun 2026 10:48:03 +0100

To be
is to be aware of what comes after

Inspired
by what came before

Rorschach

mickeko — Mon, 08 Jun 2026 08:38:37 +0100

In wouden is wudz
brewnished and knit fin stand
praubly glueball a mewt jaw rock
queening ysh regin enblind

Crocodile Tears

Sameen — Mon, 08 Jun 2026 04:53:02 +0100

a pull in the sky

arquious — Mon, 08 Jun 2026 02:11:43 +0100

a pull in the sky nudges you forward

a rising sound catches each ear,

drawing you closer

sight shifts something within,

sending you toward the door

as hallway lights flicker ahead

urging your steps outward

and the movement around you

gathers speed, carrying you with it

Beehive

yoonoos peerbocus — Mon, 08 Jun 2026 00:41:42 +0100

weather locked,erosion- proof
even within a hollow stump
protrudes as perfect workmanship.
unlike its seniors-
the anthill deeply woven and dug into ground
the termite's chewed mud mound
the bird's husk plaited basket
the wasp's shroud:
all built for a season,
the beehive forged of resin, sap and wax,
constructs a civilization,
solves
the oldest mathematical riddle:
three shapes converging to a point
forms three hundred and sixty degrees.
This blueprint seen
mapped in the spiral scales of the pineapple
mirrored in the armor on the turtle shell.
Man copied its patterns for carpets and floors
and observing, studying
the multibrilliant architect-worker inside
builds his state, laws and cities
and learns to transition
from mud-hut, igloo to intersecting skyscraper
owns the lore as his own
while the real seniormost mentor
writhes, napalmed by insecticide!

Two Paths

Editorial Team — Sun, 07 Jun 2026 22:17:00 +0100

A path across a meadow fair and sweet,
Where clover-blooms the lithesome grasses greet,
A path worn smooth by his impetuous feet.
A straight, swift path—and at its end, a star
Gleaming behind the lilac's fragrant bar,
And her soft eyes, more luminous by far!

A path across the meadow fair and sweet,
Still sweet and fair where blooms and grasses meet—
A path worn smooth by his reluctant feet.
A long, straight path—and, at its end, a gate
Behind whose bars she doth in silence wait
To keep the tryst, if he come soon or late!

More information on Julia C R Dorr

SOMETIME SOMEWHERE EVER

Griffonner — Sun, 07 Jun 2026 22:02:32 +0100

Was that a look of sympathy
Granddad showed to the camera?
And who took the photograph?
The lock-keeper or a passer-by?
It's far too late to discover.
I was only seven years old
At the time - sometime around

Nineteen-Fifty or thereabouts.
That's a long long time ago.

I think it highly improbable, but
Perhaps there's a reader out there
Who knows which lock and where?
All I know is it was the same water
Inside that Grand Union Canal
Somewhere in Northamptonshire
That passed the top of 'our road'
Somewhere in Paddington, London,
That briefly I'd called 'home'.

That day was 'Parent's Day'
At Grafton Regis Choir School for Boys,
And Grand-dad came as a substitute -
Why? I didn't actually know...
But I had a sneaky suspicion
Home was on the move again.

On that greyish afternoon

He took me to Stony Stratford.
He wanted to buy me a book.
And from all that was there,
All that I might have chosen from,
I chose a Christian Hymn Book.
I remember it had a blue cover.

Did he get that photograph taken
To prove to my missing parents
That I was alive and looking well?
Or was he really as proud of me
As I am of him? Oh, and the book
Stayed behind and was lost for ever

When I left the school - because

My 'home' was moving again...
This time to somewhere, erm

'Deep inside Hertfordhsire'.

© Griffonner 2026

Archangels

Chaucer Whethers — Sun, 07 Jun 2026 21:09:20 +0100

Bone prisons decay

Blood stars breaking chains of light

A universe burning

أنا لا ...

poet*salem — Sun, 07 Jun 2026 18:07:45 +0100

لاكن أذا كان السبب هو الحب

انا لن اصدق هذا طبعا

لانى اعرف من تكونون

لاكن اذا كان فعلاً السبب هو الحب

فأنكم تستحقون السجن المؤبد

هل تعرفون السبب؟

My, oh my....

Clara Mae Gregory — Sun, 07 Jun 2026 14:34:36 +0100

My, oh my-

My sweet spouse
just gave me the sweetest unique compliment:

He said I was
a "cone 10".....

that's ceramic shop talk for very hot.

Was he talking about

my Irish temperament?

pythoness

one trick pony — Sun, 07 Jun 2026 14:22:20 +0100

with lin and marketa away

i am very much alone

i choose to say alone, not lonely

which is untrue

i am lonely

it is a temporary state

they will return

of course they will return

though nothing is certain

until it happens

my imagination likes to run wild

seek the dark places

they'll be back, they will be back

tell me they'll be back

dear pythia

Good and bad

dee quirke — Sun, 07 Jun 2026 12:42:43 +0100

I believe there is a god out there .but why is he not here
To show us he really cares .
All I see is pain, hurt and damnation in its way
I cry for a better life ,but who seems to care,for a soul who just knows pain in every way
Please someone just take this pain I fear ,knowing the demons are near .
Darkness comes and I think god don't care,I know now the devil has just appeared.........

Lone meteoroid

Artorius — Sun, 07 Jun 2026 12:33:19 +0100

I think a lot about meteoroids
But not about the impact
Though our planet has been wracked
I think about the endless void

Chipped from a larger piece,
Drifting through endless space
Confusing silence with peace
Unwittingly planning to leave a trace

Looking at another star
You feel incomplete
Like a severed scar
Just a rock, enveloped in heat

Because you are on a set path
As scientist tell us our fate
You plan to enact your wrath
And you wonder why we hate.

But is landing on earth
better than that endless void
Who do you believe has more worth?
Tell me your choice, meteoroid

SOL

mickeko — Sun, 07 Jun 2026 10:16:15 +0100

It is cold
let us move closer
I will build
concrete wings
To let us
like Icarus
catch the warmth
of the sun
because
words alone
won't get us close
enough

As Soot & Dust

Ingvar Loco Nordin — Sun, 07 Jun 2026 09:32:24 +0100

What it sounds like

mickeko — Sun, 07 Jun 2026 08:50:00 +0100

a bunny\'s tail

jim — Sun, 07 Jun 2026 03:52:56 +0100

in the beginning there were bunnies

then the bulldozers

took away all the trees of the forest

and all the clover and tall grass in the meadows

the bunnies

had nowhere to hide

nowhere to hide from the coyotes and owls

who ate them up

and didn't bother to spit out the bones

until one day, when the trees and meadows

had grown back

there appeared a bunny

a cottontail named mary lou

mary lou was bold

scorned the tall grass, afraid of nothing

ate her clover in the open spaces

for all the world to see

come moon or come sun

one day there appeared, magically

it seemed

a second bunny, her name was elizabeth

elizabeth was shy, even timid, kept close

to the tall grass

where she could flee at the owl's moonlight shadow

or the coyote's brazen howl, time passed peacefully

mary lou

and elizabeth nibbling clover

not so far from each other, one boldly

the other shyly

one may muse upon fate

or philosophize over right and wrong

or question

the point of existence itself

one may ask—is it better to live boldly

and die young

or shyly, like elizabeth

who kept close to the tall grass

who will surely

be nibbling clover for many seasons to come

as for the bold mary lou, all that remained

was the puff

of her little white cotton tail

the signature

anonface — Sun, 07 Jun 2026 01:17:56 +0100

X Marks The Biome

Kee Zealy — Sat, 06 Jun 2026 22:16:31 +0100

While the letter X
Is singular in its lack of use
X identifies feminine biology
Where clarity is defined
Or obscured with mystery

The unpredictable X
Is a paradoxical identity
Where male interaction
Stumbles feet first
Toes inserted mouth first

X is the unknown variable
In an unsolvable algebraic equation
That an attempt to complete
Always returns twisted scenarios
That invalidates assumptions
That make men assholes without intent

X filled in the check box
Of dozens of open files
Browsed simultaneously
With dozens of parameters
Available for selection

While the algebraic equivalent
Looks for one, an AI model
Subjective non subjective
Complete core dump
With an endless log
It cannot explain
Except with the simple phrase
What the fuck is this?
It is the mysterious letter X

Tongue Twisters

Sameen — Sat, 06 Jun 2026 17:41:17 +0100

Flying Jewels

William Hughes — Sat, 06 Jun 2026 16:43:31 +0100

Joyas Voladoras. They whir, whir like toy helicopters,

spiraling in the summer doldrums, enchanting,

so miniscule, yet they make me seem small.

Some say they hum songs of ancient prayers;

others say they jolt us into doing what needs to be done:

seeking, gathering nectar--whatever that may be.

Jade green, ruby-throated (jewels that fly):

Linger for a spell, that I may hear

what you're saying, what you're singing.

One warm day in early June, you perched

on a fence, inches from my hand--

emeralds and rubies at my fingertips.

A sliver of time captured to carry with me

through what remains of this year.

to store in my treasure-chest

of extraordinary ordinaries.

Reflecting on Biblical Research .

Clara Mae Gregory — Sat, 06 Jun 2026 13:12:05 +0100

Lavetti\'s Lagrange Point

Ingvar Loco Nordin — Sat, 06 Jun 2026 11:29:17 +0100

Air superiority

mickeko — Sat, 06 Jun 2026 09:45:47 +0100

Djinn

mickeko — Sat, 06 Jun 2026 07:14:07 +0100

Thank you
Oh Lord

for having me born
to your magic carpet

lest I fall to hell
for not being born

to your ground
nor proper faith

Bernard Therapie

Albert Vynckier — Sat, 06 Jun 2026 05:13:05 +0100

Bernar Therapie
I don't go to the therapist
the businesses that I buy for a pence and sell
for millions
are my therapy
to win and loose is the game
sometimes I win, sometimes I fail
but with a therapy, all seem to always better
and better
it's a fraud ! because the therapist has to earn
his doughs
so it's difficult to face his patient after
16 years of analysis and say
"you are a moron, you have failed
nevertheless, I can't refund you
I never promised you anything, you have been
responsible for your own judgment "

Bear Hunt

Melinda K Zarate — Sat, 06 Jun 2026 01:56:06 +0100

the baron declares

arquious — Sat, 06 Jun 2026 01:08:03 +0100

"the baron's declaration"

The celebrated Munchhausen
announced to the town council
that he had recently returned
from a perilous expedition
across the vast expanse
between the windowsill
and the fruit bowl.

He described the journey
as “gruelling,”
citing unpredictable terrain
(a crumpled napkin),
hostile wildlife
(a mildly curious sparrow),
and the treacherous crossing
of the Great Ceramic Plateau
(a strewn dinner plate).

He concluded his report
by presenting a souvenir:
a raisin he claimed
to have wrestled
into submission.

The council recorded his statement
with the same patience
they reserve for all his dispatches
—a patience born not of belief,
but of the quiet understanding
that some citizens
require a larger stage
than their stature permits.

.

\"Fate Expectations\"

Clara Mae Gregory — Fri, 05 Jun 2026 20:47:45 +0100

The Gathering

Melinda K Zarate — Fri, 05 Jun 2026 20:32:43 +0100

The weekly gathering
always begins quietly
as the ones who come early
read their work aloud,
the audience alert,
the applause warm.

Then come the power poets,
spoken word pouring
through mouths that convey
meaning with rhythm,
stance grounded,
hands exclamation marks.

Sometimes a singer,
rapper, or musician
takes the stage,
a sudden jolt to the flow,
poetry set to music.

We are diversity in motion,
young, old, all colors,
all ages, life experiences
as varied as the fruits
in the market, each with
something enriching to give.

SIGNING IN, SIGNING OUT? NOT YET.

Alan J Ripley — Fri, 05 Jun 2026 16:23:31 +0100

Sorry folks.
Seems I've had better day's
In the life i've shared.
Here on poetbay,
Everything still isn't right,
Having trouble coalescing,
What I'm confessing.
Before I had my hospital stay,
I had an extra infection. Possibly
after I fell down hard on one knee.
(Sepsis). With D.K.A
( Didn't find out till the other day ),
Still waiting for an x-ray.
I've still got blood test,
And cardiology along the way.
With the dentist waiting,
To see me on another day.
My thoughts are drifting,
Away from poetbay.
For me it feels like,
There's nothing left.
It used to take,
Very little time.
To finish off a rhythm,
Now I struggle with every line.
I still strive to write,
At least I'm sleeping most night's.
Waking up in agony, dieing for a pee.
It's no fun being me. On top that
We've just found out,
My carol has mixed dementia too.
Sorry I don't mean to make you cringe,
It seems all I do is whing.
Theirs a lot of people out there,
That I cannot see,
That are a lot worse off,
Than the wife and me.
My heart goes out to them,
As do all my prayers.

As a child

dee quirke — Fri, 05 Jun 2026 15:24:47 +0100

I've been living this life since I've been a child. No wounder I'm not dead .
How more can you put me true ,and how more can I take
Is it that you want me to breake ,before I go to hell, am i just not punished enough living in this cell
The pain the anger the fear ,just give me the knife and let me take my life .cut and take the evil out of me .im tired of the games .but the devil just sits and smile at me

The Tragically Hip- \"Poets\"

Clara Mae Gregory — Fri, 05 Jun 2026 13:59:49 +0100

https://youtu.be/ZVBHxcfpXJg?si=jm-X6NeEFbtZtr9m

https://genius.com/The-tragically-hip-poets-lyrics

[same song at both links; includes the lyrics]

🕊R I P🕊 GORD

[From an AI Overview]
👇 👇 👇 👇 👇
Gord Downie, the iconic frontman and lyricist for the Canadian rock band The Tragically Hip (famous for hits like "Poets"), died on October 17, 2017 at the age of 53. He passed away after a brave and public battle with terminal brain cancer (glioblastoma).

His passing followed a massive cross-Canada farewell tour with the Hip, which concluded with an emotional, nationally televised concert in his hometown of Kingston, Ontario. Downie was deeply revered as Canada's "unofficial poet laureate" for his profound lyrics celebrating Canadian geography, history, and culture.

Amnesia

mickeko — Fri, 05 Jun 2026 09:48:53 +0100

I forgot again
Not the things I do

I remembered

Because they are you

I forgot again
That I need too

ALGORITHM, n. - SYMPATHY, n.

mickeko — Fri, 05 Jun 2026 08:09:20 +0100

Wild Onions

Melinda K Zarate — Fri, 05 Jun 2026 02:41:00 +0100

elemental fusion

anonface — Fri, 05 Jun 2026 01:49:05 +0100

dragon breath
daring questers
scales and swords

glinting, singing
nostrils flare

courage bold
dipping, lifting
melding lock

ever lilting
tales forge

unfiltered spouting

arquious — Thu, 04 Jun 2026 22:14:12 +0100

"Unfiltered Speech"

Some people speak as if the world were built
to take every impact.
They spout their thoughts
the way a worker might drop tools on a bench

—not hostile, just unaware
of how sound travels.

In a café or queue,
you can feel the shift
when someone talks without softening.
A remark lands,
and everyone nearby adjusts,
as though a door had opened
onto weather no one expected.

Friends try to explain it:
They don’t mean harm.
And it’s true.
Their words arrive straight from the source,
without pause, hardly any shaping,
like a message sent before an envelope is found.

Others wish for gentler phrasing,
for a moment of consideration
before a thought is released

—to let conversation move

keeping the room steady
without sudden jolts and starts.

Yet there is something revealing

in this unfiltered way of speaking.
It shows how much we rely
on small adjustments we rarely notice

—the quiet work of choosing how to speak
so others can stay with what we say.

The Failed Mission

Melinda K Zarate — Thu, 04 Jun 2026 18:18:56 +0100

Being real

mickeko — Thu, 04 Jun 2026 16:59:11 +0100

"Do you hear me?"
She asked

I lie
listening
to the pearly stream
that is her

"Yes"

"Then, what did I say?"

Damn!

Called out again

"I heard you, not the words"
I say
struggling
to sit up