PoetryVerse - the poem and the meaning

Moonraker

The Shopping List Published: October 19, 2026

We have had our payday, it happens once a month, As soon as we have got it, we seem to spend it all at once. After the standing orders and the direct debits, Paying for stuff we’ve got online, with the card of credit. The car needs to be ready, to take us to our destination, So, we need to fill it from a pump, at the petrol station. Then Its down the shops to grab a trolly, made of stainless steel, With a sticky handle that we wipe, and it’s got a wonky wheel. As you travel down the carpark it rattles and it shudders, Trying not to get the whe

One Blue Jockey

Bullet Train Published: October 19, 2026

The train the train of change has arrived a few weeks for it to leave me alone in my room my heart is too slow all is happening to soon and I am bound to never know what the next firework will be or where the bullet will come from to leave me dead in the snow in a country I do not remember going to all alone without my clothes and my books and prized possessions.

Mikhail Moonasar

FIELDS OF GOLD Published: October 13, 2026

There are some people who walk into your life like they were always meant to be there, and then they vanish like they were never real at all. That is what happened to Julian. He was forty-two years old, tired of the world, tired of himself, driving down an old dirt road with no destination in mind. The kind of road that kicks up dust and leads nowhere in particular. The sun was hanging low, casting long shadows across the open fields. Then he saw her. A woman on a white horse, riding through fields of golden grass that swayed like waves in the

Mark Dicks

A Role I Know by Heart Published: October 08, 2026

One step further. That's all it takes, a step. But towards where? Into my heart, or into my mind? Or into the life of someone I've yet to understand? I'm never sure which way to go, yet always know which way works. A whisper here, a fleeting touch, and suddenly, I'm bound to her soul. But why does my end of the string grow duller with every pull? The words come easy, their weight, less so. I speak as though I mean them, and convince myself I do, until- Every movement feels rehearsed, every feeling, a familiar line. I've played this part so

Vrab

La Fontaine Published: August 09, 2026

La Fontaine wrote his fables late at night, long after the world had dimmed its light; so he cannot claim the credit alone - his wife deserves some praise of her own. For had she kept herself busy with women’s affairs, he’d never have written of crickets and ants. Had she but focused on him for a moment then, La Fontaine would have written quite differently, amen.

Hxney

Real Man Published: August 05, 2026

Rough hands foreign amongst dime, Earned their throne through paths unknown to me. A thin veil which conceals, Like a viper slithering low, shedding its outer layer to what suits him best. My once kind seed, begone with all unwanted ways; she detests. All for nought, yearning for feather-light touches that may never grace. No son of mine is man.