Poetbay.com

Authenticity.

yoonoos peerbocus — Tue, 11 Aug 2026 08:00:22 +0100

I am the global tongue
of body and mind
in original fabric
before the words-
I am the laughter
I am the tears
that sit behind the eyes
no mirror can reflect me
no scent of social shell
can lure me,
I walk in the skin
that fits just right
need not I
cat-walk trophy
I am the heart's own proof
that blooms from within
in its own true hue

How Sorrow Is Realized

Jamsbo Rockda — Tue, 11 Aug 2026 07:56:59 +0100

small money

arquious — Tue, 11 Aug 2026 03:38:43 +0100

"small money"

He shakes the coins in his pocket
confirming the day
retains its listening ear.

Bronze and silver pieces
clink their small weather
—astronomy at street‑level
gauging how close two
strangers might stand.

He offers one, not as charity,
but as a way of saying
you crossed into my drift of things,
the way a busker’s hat
collects soft decisions
people make when passing.

She takes it, not for value,
but for warmth,
— metal carrying
the brief history of a palm
and a longer history
of wanting to be met.

The afternoon
moves around them.
Coins settle in her pocket
tiny agreements
that the world still
answers
in small increments.

And they part
—judgement-free
a scriptless,
faint exchange
between two people
testing whether the day
might open up
a little more.

Untitled ( the rare turtle)

Alan J Ripley — Tue, 11 Aug 2026 00:42:00 +0100

Just heard rare turtle,
To be sent back home.
In 5,000 incredible
Emotional trip..

Why Emotional?
Was the turtle
An illegal immigrant.
Or did he or she,
Have a family and
Didn't want to go?

Thanks for opening the door

peter williams — Tue, 11 Aug 2026 00:03:35 +0100

Ima

Chaucer Whethers — Mon, 10 Aug 2026 22:29:18 +0100

At the core of stars

A light incendiary

Where immanence bodes

AI Question 5

Chaucer Whethers — Mon, 10 Aug 2026 20:44:53 +0100

who I am

yoonoos peerbocus — Mon, 10 Aug 2026 15:55:10 +0100

A house stood even on walls of gold
still stands as a building,
the inmates define
who am I.
When a flight of bats roosts in
I am a barn,
When a pack of wolves waylay from here
I am a lair,
When a throng of thieves turn me into a hide- out
I am a den
but
when roast from the hearth,
love from the heart,
friendship a guest
blend
it is a home
expanded into my larger body.

Obstruction

Melinda K Zarate — Mon, 10 Aug 2026 13:59:27 +0100

Words formed something like a promise,
met with soft surprise, then stumbling
over reasons why not,
minds traveling down different paths
searching for the one path
strewn with the fewest boulders.

We wish for a solid plan,
for a future where nights do not end
with begrudging partings
but the soft sounds of falling
into sleep, waking to coffee.

We could spend our days dreaming
of earthquake moments that clear the path,
but dreams are for the young;
with each choice not made,
we live within the walls
we leave standing.

Here so wonderfully clear

Nils Teodor — Mon, 10 Aug 2026 12:21:54 +0100

"Here it is - right now

Start thinking about it and you miss it."

Huang Po

The truth of Being

already here so wonderfully clear

The Heart of awareness is silently calling

The house of conceptual cards is falling

Stillness so full of natural ease

blooms into deep peace

Uncaught by thought

life is singing

mind rests

Love

dances

In a Zeroed-Out Migraine Aura

Ingvar Loco Nordin — Mon, 10 Aug 2026 11:08:01 +0100

the cure

Albert Vynckier — Mon, 10 Aug 2026 09:49:11 +0100

you are not apt to say when you will be cured Mister V.
but anyway how are you doing today ?
Dear Doc, you should tell it to me yourself, after all, you are the specialist !

Stockhausen Said

Ingvar Loco Nordin — Mon, 10 Aug 2026 08:56:31 +0100

Sameen — Mon, 10 Aug 2026 07:34:30 +0100

BURSITIS OF MY KNEE

Alan J Ripley — Mon, 10 Aug 2026 03:37:23 +0100

Bursitis of the knee,
Is not for me.
I haven't just got it,
I've got all three.

Good thing an x-ray,
Isn't like a microwave.
My goose would be cooked,
Doctors themselves have taken a look.

I've been poked and prodded,
Pushed about from pillar to post.
With no signs of treatment for me,
A lumpy knee for all to see.

Guess it'll go away someday,
If the doctors earn their pay.
Why I try with exercise,
I really cannot say.

Is this an inflection of my mind,
Or another infection of a kind.
That just won't go away, Unless,
It has an injection of some kind.

Frozen peas on my knee,
Does nothing for me.
A compression is the same,
It's my fault really;
I shouldn't have fallen over again.

Ai Question 4

Chaucer Whethers — Mon, 10 Aug 2026 00:07:56 +0100

A Strange Fact

Alan J Ripley — Sun, 09 Aug 2026 23:34:45 +0100

Life is crazy,
When I think about
Pushing up daisy's.
A strange fact,
Appears before me.
As far as I can see,
My carol and me.
Were always meant to be.

Picking up her birth certificate,
A strange fact was presented,
That was unbelievable to me.
Well almost, She was born
30th Oct. I was born 20th Nov.
We've always been close you see.

Her birth was registered,
The day I was born. Thinking back,
Now I can see, What I always believed.
That Carol and me, Was always meant
to be

I was born on my dad's birthday,
So mum gave my dad a present.
That birthday present was me.
Also I had an aunt born the same day.

Stubborness

Artorius — Sun, 09 Aug 2026 22:35:06 +0100

THE STORY TO TRUE FRIENDSHIP BY ANN WOOD

Ann Wood — Sun, 09 Aug 2026 20:49:54 +0100

My dear friends, Mira and Moni.
You are so caring and kind.
You always find time to listen to the person next to you.
And you are always ready to help him.
You are the soul of the company, and you have big hearts filled with love.
You are mother and daughter, but also good friends.
Thank you for having you in my life, since I have known you you have made me happy.
You accepted me as I am, and you never judged or criticized me.
Fate brought us together, and gave birth to a beautiful friendship.
Always be so kind, loving, caring and patient.
God has gifted you, with beauty, kindness, and two huge hearts.
My dear friends, be alive and healthy, and very blessed.
A friend in need is known, and you are faithful and true friends.

I met them in a TikTok live, at a very difficult time for me. I came in by chance, I liked the topic of conversation and the nice music they were listening to. Later I found out that they were mother and daughter. The mother lives and works in England, just like me. And the beautiful Moni lives in Bulgaria, where I am from. And from word to word, we realized that we have a lot of common interests and share a similar fate. And so, for several months now, a beautiful friendship has been born between us.

Dear girls, I want to wish you a sea of love, and tears of happiness. The longevity of eagles, may you be healthy as the rocks on the seashore, and wise as ancestors. May health, joy, happiness, success, luck, fertility, prosperity, peace and love be your faithful and eternal companion in life, and many dreams come true. Be yourself and never change for anyone. And know that somewhere in the world one person loves you and thinks about you, and that is me. With love, light and peace forever your friend Ann Wood

Ai Question 3

Chaucer Whethers — Sun, 09 Aug 2026 18:53:20 +0100

Sonnet to Science by Edgar Allan Poe

Clara Mae Gregory — Sun, 09 Aug 2026 13:08:53 +0100

Orpheus in Bashkortostan

Ingvar Loco Nordin — Sun, 09 Aug 2026 09:19:42 +0100

DAD PICASO AND ME

ken d williams — Sun, 09 Aug 2026 09:10:29 +0100

One day on the tely
Thear were this
Doco on Picaso
I just could not
Undestand!
Luckaly dad were
Home from work
That evening
Luckaly for me!

I said, to dad:
'' I just do'nt understand, that Picaso paintings, dad! ''
Quick in a flash, dad, had a pece of paper and pencil!

The began to draw as he, dad, were, Picaso, him self!
As dad dawd, dad, explind, each stroke of the pencil!
It were long before I understood - not just Picaso,

Darly anal I did that! Cubisam, pop art, suricam and
All there were in art to understand!!!!
But crap, con art, is still so mutch crap, all the same!

Thanks dad, mate.

ken d williams

The Dyslexic Wordsmith Ov Thanet

SCARS (With Thanks To Aqures)

ken d williams — Sun, 09 Aug 2026 07:04:13 +0100

The phisal scars show
Faid over the years

Thoug throb at times
Memarys ster at such
Times

The scars of the mind
Now thats somert
Diffarant
They remain
Shapes your thinking!

Kenny D. Williams

The Dylexic Wordsmith Ov Thanet

between two

one trick pony — Sun, 09 Aug 2026 04:11:38 +0100

get to know

her likes and dislikes

habits

propensities, 'clivities

hope

we align

a lifetime is a long time

to spend

with someone

i can't sate

needs something

i can't give

there's a brief window

there's a door

scar tissue

arquious — Sun, 09 Aug 2026 03:56:10 +0100

"scar tissue"

its cadence broke where skin forgets

— a calcified perimeter of white.

It wears the vigilant malice of oaks,

Concealing bone beneath creaking armour,

A mask smelted slowly in the forge of light

To keep its soft, interior beast from harm or

Unwelcome touch; a shell grown tight and stark,

Dividing living tissue from dark forces.

A ROAD TO NOWHERE

Alan J Ripley — Sat, 08 Aug 2026 22:19:35 +0100

Yesterday I was asked about
My DKA Sepsis experience.
So here it is.....

Travelling along a darkened route,
To heavens gate I found.
Their was no one else around.
Inside I had not died a thousand deaths,
One was sufficient for me
And yet, It wasn't to be.
There wasn't anyone else around,
Except my grandson keeping me,
Tethered to the ground.
There was no wind blowing,
No sun shining down on my weary face.
Just a stark reality I was somewhere,
That was inside the voids of space.
An uncomfortable place,
A place I have no wish to share.
Darkness didn't desend,
It was: Just there, not anywhere.
But everywhere the eyes could perceive,
Yet it wasn't. I had no thought process;
So it's hard to believe I was really their.
With no cold of night, No summer breeze.
Couldn't feel the freshness of the air,
Let alone a sneeze.
Or the summer rain upon my face,
It was as though the world was resetting.
Remembering what it used to be.
Although I didn't notice if it was me out of place,
Two day's it took for me to see,
That heaven and hell wasn't a place for me.
Two day's in coma neither heaven or hell,
Sometimes I wonder if I should die,
Is there a place that I should be?
Somewhere hidden within the voids of space.
All I hear is deafening silence surrounding me,
As I slowly opened my eyes to all that I can see.
No I didn't make it to heaven or hell,
But something in-between.
I lay there somewhere within my dreams,
Not trying to remember, but
No one hears me when my mind starts to scream.

Read and reliz

poet*salem — Sat, 08 Aug 2026 19:20:06 +0100

My friend was studying French in France, where he was with many students from a Scandinavian country. According to him, the students were unsociable, but at the same time, they wanted my friend to be sociable and cheerful. However, he ignored them until the last day of his studies and doesn't know the names of most of them.

When \"Train\" was still Rock [the old stuff!]

Clara Mae Gregory — Sat, 08 Aug 2026 18:01:27 +0100

Sadly, Charlie, their bass player, had a drug abuse problem. He died in a shower accident in 2024 while house-sitting in Brussels, Belgium. Sounds suspicious to me. I don't believe the story given. Sketchy. I really liked this group when they first started before they went from Rock to Pop. Their early songs are really good.

https://www.theguardian.com/music/article/2024/may/23/charlie-colin-train-band-bassist-death-cause-age-58-slipping-in-shower

Idaho

https://youtu.be/ffZPaPisgWY?is=cnrlh5ayhizDbRJ3

Texas are you my friend?
You live so close to the end
Texas are you my friend?
Because I'm afraid of you
Hey Maine, hey, you're a little too high for me
And FLA you're just a little too low
D.C. you want to be the end of me
I think I'm moving to Idaho

I ain't afraid of you
I ain't afraid of you

Ooo, people all on the outside looking in
Mother Nature shakes, what then, what then
Ooo, people all on the outside looking through
She'll shake you to Idaho, that's what she'll do, yeah

Hoo, hoo Carolina brother you make me crawl under the covers
I just can't get myself to go, oh no
Hey Joe I see your name too, but there is nothing that they can do
I think I'm moving to Idaho

I ain't afraid of you
I ain't afraid of you

Ooo, people all on the outside looking in
Mother Nature shakes, what then, what then
Ooo, people all on the outside looking through
She'll shake you to Idaho, that's what she'll do, yeah

Swaying

https://youtu.be/TVxYbYacjyc?is=s3Wf_8euRJz2j8yN

Don't talk too fast to me, slow, I wanna know
Share your philosophy before you go, I wanna know

If I knew better, I wouldn't want to say
If I knew better, I wouldn't let the words feel this way

Cold, so cold, like I woke up on the street
Isn't that the payback for being indiscreet

If I knew better, I'd climb up on my ego like a child
If I knew better, I'd knock down the flag
On your shoulder that's swaying
If I knew better, I wouldn't change a thing

So don't you talk too fast to me, slow, I wanna know

Camelopardalis & Canus Major

Ingvar Loco Nordin — Sat, 08 Aug 2026 17:35:45 +0100

equality versus hierarchy, what else to say ?

Albert Vynckier — Sat, 08 Aug 2026 15:38:45 +0100

In the diagram on the left, we are equal in tiers.
In the diagram on the right, everyone is unique.
Vertically, the population is distributed from the least to the most privileged.
Plus you stretch the vertical axis, the more people end up isolated on the landing.

The circuit of love

Albert Vynckier — Sat, 08 Aug 2026 14:27:54 +0100

My seed is drawn to your body
like electrons,
as though I were
the circuit's negative terminal
and you its positive one.
My body is electric
and my thoughts are magnetic.

Two monkeys and a lonely road

MIRZA AHMER BEG — Sat, 08 Aug 2026 14:11:44 +0100

Two lonely monkeys walked on a lonely road
Cloudy weather and setting sun
Fog slipping through tall cedars
I drove my car real slow
Waved the small monkey good bye
He looked at me with eyes
As if some human there
Lost in the race of time
I left my human body down the road
I don't need burdens of life
I have tried growing up into human
And then into superhuman
Let me be a soul and merge in universe

unprinted dots

arquious — Sat, 08 Aug 2026 12:28:48 +0100

" . . . "

He passes her the pen

he’s been turning

between his fingers,

its barrel warmed

by indecision.

She takes it,

aware she’s touching

the instrument

of whatever thought

he hasn’t voiced.

The atmosphere,

skews enough

to edge along

unprinted dots

. . .

That Anything At All

Ingvar Loco Nordin — Sat, 08 Aug 2026 11:11:34 +0100

Unedited

Rachy — Sat, 08 Aug 2026 09:35:28 +0100

Not everything looks the way we want it
But everything happens the way we need it
Trial
Tribulations
Boredom
Lessons
2 steps backwards
1 step foreward
Goals, progress, resilience, hope
CCreate relentless momentum
Devour the despair of stagnation
Even though after the momentum of trial and tribulations
All momentum of hope
Gives the illusion of boredom

UNLICENSED SCRIBE

Griffonner — Sat, 08 Aug 2026 08:48:22 +0100

I need to write
It's like breathing
I suck it in -
The blank whiteness
Of a wordless place -
And fullfil the task
Of splattering
Black erratic shapes
And meaty squiggles
In geometric lines
Across what was

My empty world.

She asked me who
Gave me permission?

Her real question:

Have I created

Inner-space debris

It will take centuries

To clean up

Like polluting

Space-junk?

Asking ai

Chaucer Whethers — Fri, 07 Aug 2026 22:24:34 +0100

A "hollow ethos" refers to a public image, reputation, or moral character that appears credible and ethical on the surface but lacks real substance, integrity, or guiding principles underneath.In classical rhetoric, ethos is an appeal to authority, credibility, and moral character. When that ethos is "hollow," it is a fabricated mask used to manipulate an audience rather than a reflection of true values.Key CharacteristicsSuperficial Credibility: Presenting impressive credentials or sounding highly ethical without any track record to back it up.Performative Virtue: Saying all the "right" things or adopting trendy moral stances solely for public approval.Inconsistency: Demonstrating a massive gap between spoken words and actual behavior or private choices.Transactional Morality: Treating ethics as a marketing tool or a public relations strategy rather than a core belief system.Common ExamplesCorporate Greenwashing: A company launching a massive advertising campaign about its environmental focus while continuing to heavily pollute behind the scenes.Hypocritical Leadership: A politician or public figure who campaigns heavily on family values or financial integrity but is later exposed for personal corruption.Empty Slogans: Organizations that plaster inspirational mission statements on their walls but maintain a toxic, cutthroat daily work culture.

Thinking to much

Alan J Ripley — Fri, 07 Aug 2026 22:07:37 +0100

I'll never be grammatically correct
How can I be, Being someone like me.
Even though I had the schooling,
A lexdysia misinthrop who couldn't read.

Then again I've never been sane,
Why on earth would I want to be.
In a world that constantly bleeds,
While the vampires of the world feed.

Going to bed at one, Getting up at five,
You would think I'd be more dead than alive.
Thinking to much drives my mind wild,
It's the word's that I write I cannot find.

It's as though there asleep in my mind,
Slowly drifting out of my half awake head.
As I watch the clouds form in the sky,
Is this the time for me to say goodbye.

What if we could move onto the next,
It would be a wonderland of possibilities.
A peaceful land, Shared by man,
That I know, I would love to see.

Still Here

Melinda K Zarate — Fri, 07 Aug 2026 14:08:08 +0100

It disappeared so quietly,
easing itself from solid form
into particles broken apart,
floating away a few at a time
as each new horror unfolded,
filling in with blocks of despair
where hope once dwelled.

More stable hands responded,
pulled escaping particles back toward center,
friends who refused to let my last few
scatter silently into the void.
Hope hangs now - not gone, not whole,
just a single fragile thread
tethered to the storm within.

CAMERA OBSCURA

Griffonner — Fri, 07 Aug 2026 11:07:52 +0100

I woke this morning on a breath
That came from somewhere unknown.
The room was lit with opal light
Threatening my sense of presence.
The window view was Summer and already hot,
So much hazing green; and crisping brown.
Pareidolia was everywhere,
In shadows, bushes, Mukberry trees.
Life seems to have completely changed.

Much solidarity is being stripped –
Like the dried leaves off the trees –
And all about is uncertainty,
Unsound ground, new disorder –
Forest fires, and war that seems everywhere!
Yet I am not with great despair,
Insanity, or mental ‘fracticality’,
Or loss of my essential celtic core.

The season of holiday is here
In my place, world, of changeability,
Inflation, and fragmenting democracy.
Only my soulmate will raise a glass
Over a vegetarian lunchtime meal,
With wine, or more likely orange juice,
And there will be a tear in my eye
For all the scenes that are banked
In those mystic akashic records.
There’ll be none other to share a toast
Within the range of my physicality.

Those others, and the whole outer world
Including the snooping army helicopter -
Beyond my glassy auric armour –
Could all be imaginary souls
And nostalgic manifestations that
I watch from within my camera obscura,
Whilst I am secretly seated
In some mystic directorial chair,
Painting a suppositious World
That seems, suddenly, upside down.

Ask AI

Chaucer Whethers — Thu, 06 Aug 2026 23:32:17 +0100

THOSE PASS THIS WAY

ken d williams — Thu, 06 Aug 2026 21:42:03 +0100

Those who pass this way
Write and post hear
Leve theare and do not deleat
Remain to be read by us
And those to come hear
Will read their work
All the time the world turns
Remain with those who read!

ken d williams

The Dyslexic Wordsmith Ov Thanet

Everybody Has A Story

Clara Mae Gregory — Thu, 06 Aug 2026 20:41:32 +0100

A place the light knows how to find

arquious — Thu, 06 Aug 2026 19:15:26 +0100

"A Place the Light Knows How to Find"

There are evenings
when the world settles
into a quieter shape—
not quite shadow,
not quite glow—
just that tender in‑between
where everything feels
a little more possible.

In such hours,
a one might pause
on the edge of a thought,
letting it rest
without needing to follow it
all the way through.

There is no hurry here,
no expectation—
only the gentle company
of one’s own breathing.

Sometimes a breeze
moves through the room
as if to remind the air
that it is held,
even when still.

And perhaps that is enough—
to know that stillness
can be a kind of shelter,
and that approach
need not be sudden
to be sincere.

If ever a heart
feels uncertain
of its place in the world,
there are corners of time
that welcome it softly—
the way a quiet path
welcomes footsteps
without asking
where they’ve been.

Here,
nothing is demanded.

Here,
everything is allowed.

And the light,
patient as ever,
waits on the threshold
for anyone who chooses
to step a little closer—
only when they wish,
only when they’re ready.

dawn

one trick pony — Thu, 06 Aug 2026 15:10:23 +0100

what's left to be said about frida

emily

virginia, sylvia

there must be something, the books

keep

coming forth

it dawned on me, read the primary

sources

read the books, the poems

stand before the art and behold

i'm confident

it will obviate the need

to rely others' opinions

of these great women

JOURNEY BACK TO THE VALLEY\'S

Griffonner — Thu, 06 Aug 2026 11:27:13 +0100

I'm in the back seat as usual:
Able to look out either side
But the road ahead obscured
By two bobbing and swaying heads.

Trees passing by in bundles, their branches disappearing above
the window glass beside me. Their trunks emerging from scrubby grass in
in a light grey dust that reminds me of our back yard at home in London.

When it starts to rain there is the stuttering sound
of the windscreen wipers venturing across the glass in fits
and starts.

Granddad bends forward in his seat to look through the blobs of water that trail ever downwards.

I can tell we've slowed down.

The wheels s-w-i-s-h along and occasionally w-h-o-o-s-h through puddles.

I can't wait to see the water splash up and to the side as we rumble through them, and there's still the bridge that granddad will speed over so my tummy lifts.

The leather seat feels chilly on the skin of my legs. Their stickiness
stops me sliding into the luggage as we round the bends.

I dig into my pocket and retrieve my tube of Spangles.

The next one is green.
Not my favourite.
I think it tastes more yellow than green.
I'm not keen on lemons.

Grandma says we'll be stopping soon for lunch.

I daydream of Ty Pennar and Miss Colebrook, wondering
what story book she'll have ready to read.

Auntie Jess will have lots of paints for me to play with.

I like the huge sheets of paper she sometimes has.

Thomas, her ginger cat will loudly purr and twist between my legs, his tail
tickling as it passes.

The rain stops and the sun comes out. Granddad hastely pulls a shade
down from the roof to shield his eyes.

My grandma says thank goodness the rain has stopped.

My tummy rumbles.

The front seats squeak as Granddad steers the car off the road and onto the bumpy verge.

We stop. And I wait for someone to open my door so I can get out.

Granddad opens the door on the other side and drags the picnic basket
that has been my eggy companion traveller up till now.

There is a rush of fresh air when he opens that door and Grandma opens mine.

The blanket gets layed on the damp grass, and we seat ourselves around
the picnic basket eating our eggy sandwiches. They are drinking tea
from the pale blue flask, I have a plastic beaker of Tizer poured from the
big orange-red bottle.

The bubbles tickle the the roof of my mouth before I swallow.

When they pack away the remnants of our lunch, Grandad takes me through the farm gate so I can pee in private. Pee done, we trudge back to the car, and Grandma cwtches me in in with a coat over my legs. That's when I become impatient for this annual journey back to 'the valleys' to be over. I just can't wait.

From here on, the damp woolen blanket in the picnic basket will smell like the cloakroom at school.

I'll doze for a bit before it'll be time for my incessant "Are we nearly there yet?"

being and having: equality and hierarchy

Albert Vynckier — Thu, 06 Aug 2026 10:52:22 +0100

Ultra-rich people, I think, are the kind of people who see the world in a way where, if you're not careful, the gap between who you ARE (being) and what you OWN (having) becomes huge.
I'm somebody important, what I own is paired with who I am
the more I am, the more I have
There's this kind of inflation of having over being.
Those are traits you often find in very rich people.

Though Far Away

Jamsbo Rockda — Thu, 06 Aug 2026 10:03:35 +0100

Lebens(t)raum

Ingvar Loco Nordin — Thu, 06 Aug 2026 08:29:24 +0100