Curling Poems - Poems about Curling

...This piece of me fits nowhere in the vastness of the cold world. While others find things to do with their time, places to go. Things to say to each other in the shadow of the evening falling over ......

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...It's been such a purrrrfect day. it's fun to play. I love sugarplum wishes. to try to catch fishes. violet visions. hard to make decisions, play with the dog's tail, or eat that slow old snai......

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...“Keep knocking as hard as one can and wait patiently before the closed gate is the best way to enter it. But find if it is a gate to perdition or salvation.”- By Poet On a late evening......

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...In the Odyssey of curling bloom, The void lying within goes inerasable Even though the means used are fragile enough Yet, unable to detach complexity Yet, unable to fulfill the felicity of cons......

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...“is life an illusion?” ... As a young kid, loved the magical illusion... With every flick of the hand, a world unfolds, Mysteries hidden in stories told, Where wonder reigns and logic de......

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...L o v e and you, the f a d i n g phase of lunar wings, spectral silver ~ floating in the deep, dark abyss of the obsidian skyline, refracting reveries of a redolent realm, slipping and cur......

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...My name is printed in a column, Politely, like a queue, A school crocodile line. Two words in staining ink. My fingertips, They have turned black, Tracing lines of a curling print, Prints burn......

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...Cherries stain her fingers bright, Deep and dark as midnight wine. She pops them slow between her lips, Her smile lazy, soft, divine. The window's cracked to summer air, The city sighing, fast......

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...Your back, a shoreline my breath returns to, warm as tidewater held past midnight. I trace the hush between your shoulder blades — a silence taught to speak in skin. The room forgets its corner......

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... Hope began as a whisper, curling across dark sea, guiding my arrival, to come see, and be. Yet the gist was hollow, empty to the core, the rind of promise, peeled off, fell down, to the fl......

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...They hang like a beaded curtain in a fortune teller’s parlor, each buoy a bauble from the sea’s own trove— sun-faded, barnacle-bitten, unstrung from nets that once strained tides for omens......

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... I wandered through the forest felled. Its stumps arrayed as scars. Its bird song larks forever quelled, to axed-silent memoirs. Remnants of trees are now a maze, traced by entrails of mists.......

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...They called it a seat, but it was a cradle of fire— metal-wrapped, bolted shut, no window, just the hum of wires and the memory of old Moscow snow still clinging to your pads. They fed you w......

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...The way you fold your coffee cup between both palms on winter mornings— I memorize this quiet ritual as if it were scripture. Your thumb traces circles on the ceramic rim, steam curling like y......

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... he’s got a face like a rotted pear, eyes yellow as the bottom of a cheap pint glass. his hands move like old leather belts— cracked, heavy, well-worn. he counts the minutes like coins dropped ......

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