Grays Poems - Poems about Grays

out to walk my dachshund and me a gray streak is all you see passersby in daily parade me, the dog and gator aide silver haired streams seniors roam travelled trails lead from the home pastel processions in vestal white naughty nighties in plain sight minus a mass memory lapse bathroom breaks and after naps seniors pass in parade dashing like a barefoot...

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HAIBUN School is cancelled due to four inches of snow and ice. My feet are cold. The window brings in gray’s, white’s, and brown’s. The tree soldiers look angry – stark and harsh. I feel colder when I get closer to the window which is decorated with frost. ...

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I feel asleep On the wind It took me to places High and lofty Amongst the clouds And cool high air Where water is but Droplets of mist I touched the stars And kissed the moon Shook the hand of Mr Gray in his tin can It blew me past the station So I knocked to say “Hello” But no one answered Which was strange As all the lights were...

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The older I got my youth washed away through the frozen waterfalls and cold rocks, tripping on moss waiting for the next day. Nurturing was fictional to the flocks of starving young, instead steel chains and locks. Famished for affection we wanted to be scooped up in loving arms, kissed goodnight, teased and played with, and had fun...

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For a moment the sun is bright, blinding, burning, cold and white. Quick with winter's chill gray white clouds stretch and flow in quiet and still. Winter's fifty shades of gray play artist with the sky of day. The earth rests tattered with fallen leaves held stiff, frozen like an ocean tide heaves. Soon the day is done...

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Green foliage grays at full age, loses grip at the stir of a delicate breeze. Others, lush and luxuriant, snap in a gale. And some budding, too, before beauty unfurls, are clipped by nature's pruning clipper. Others watch, pondering their dream. Yet wind caresses, storm howls, leaves green; sprouting flowers push to...

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Clothe me in grays of pain! Dead sun's ember cannot warm a heart cold with detachment. Solitude, closest friend, you remember the days I walked life's road with contentment. Faye Lanham Gibson Copyright, August 20, 2015...

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mother turns her head to see her son’s hair in the light shining above the breakfast table all laid out & spots a gray--- the dark brown hair once flailing behind the drumset in the garage during the teenage years, has begun to go away & it makes her feel older than she is herself, having earned her grays raising him, having watched her own...

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