Long Shrinkage Poems
Long Shrinkage Poems. Below are the most popular long Shrinkage by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Shrinkage poems by poem length and keyword.
Flying dove-like in the midst of a sea of blueness
Bringing a warm sensory of quiet and peacefulness
A delicate quill floats and moves with the mild breeze
Each butterfly represents a profound gift of gentle ease.
Whispering Wings, indigenous force's benefactress
Tugging the chords despite purveying mercifulness
Meandering in the pristine wilderness same as wildebeest
It suspires into our buoyant spirits, looks, and sparest.
Gravitational radiation, mindfulness adjustments
Scarcely an effectiveness shrinkage upright abutments
Will achieve divine reality in everlasting eternity
Heart at God glimpses from the chasm of leniency.
Balmy justness heaves, and the spirit reawakens
The scarcity of crispness was withdrawn slice at once
Ecstasy has glowed, and the epitome run sway
Emptiness is hidden when the shapes shrink away.
Written: January 12, 2022
for the 'Whispering Wings' Poetry Contest or Chantelle Anne Cooke.
Written: June 26, 2023
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In the realm of creation, where forces collide,
There is a phenomenon that cannot hide.
Shrinkage, a word that holds power untold,
Affects all things, both young and old.
In the dance of shrinkage, cracks appear.
Random patterns, spreading fear.
As materials contract, their strength is tested.
And in their wake, a trail of cracks is manifested.
Skipping lading, a delicate art,
To prevent shrinkage from tearing things apart.
With careful precision, we peen the weld.
Melting the metal and ensuring it's held.
But alas, shrinkage cannot be tamed.
Even in old age, memory is maimed.
Brain Shrinkage, a tragic tale,
Where memories fade and thoughts derail.
As I grow older, I fear the loss.
The shrinking of my mind at such a cost
But in this dance, there may be hope.
To slow the shrinkage, and avail me to cope.
Warpage, a consequence of shrinkage might,
Bends and distorts a worrisome sight.
But with knowledge and skill, we can prevail.
Strengthening our creations and making them avail.
Weight is a factor. In the dance of shrinkage, it plays a role.
Adding pressure, taking its toll.
But with careful consideration, we can find
A balance where strength and weight align.
Shrinkage, a force that cannot be denied,
But with knowledge and skill, we can confide.
In the realm of creation, we must embrace
The dance of shrinkage with grace
So let us not fear the cracks that appear.
In their wake, fresh paths may be clear.
And with each intervene the dance of shrinkage, we learn:
To adapt and grow, to find recent ways to yearn.
Ripples from a rain fill a bowl of passion.
Small ducks quacking in a waddled fashion.
A light breeze blew across the soft fur.
The brown beach beckons for one to occur.
Making stained-glass-like hand gesture.
As a stepping stone leading to a joy banner.
To the sky, a foreboding twilight blue.
The cleft is ruffled and tossed through.
Marigolds remain in the midst of serenity.
Shrinkage of the feeble results in nullity.
With mother's thinking resolves all hope.
To the summit of a dizzyingly steep slope.
In the shape of a duck cloud, it is resting.
Fields are flung at the worst of the gathering.
I finally started by plucking a vibrant blossom.
I went up the tower, like a gentle heirloom.
They're diminishing, like dewdrops on grain.
Against a red sky, lost echoes suck up the pane.
Written: April 13, 2022
There’s a global inflation problem
everywhere lungs are puffed up
heads are swollen.
Balloons increase in volume overnight.
The cost of rubber bands
has been stretched to its limits.
We recall sadly the heady days of deflation,
when shrinkage gave us more space
to spread, to drink our fill
of a less bloated air.
Politicians and pronouns
are loudly popping
empty suits and Stetson hats
billow and blow more than we can
know.
We see the mushrooming clouds
of bluster and bluff from afar.
The world pumps on way too hard
continents expand beyond their land.
The sky busts out of its high wide window.
Soon we shall see
how it will be before the big bang
as we escalate into fat flatulent globs
and awfully slow, bulky, bouncing blimps.
No mechanical diggers digging
Standard oblong shaped holes
The only effort needed being
To manipulate the controls.
We dug our graves by hand
And the sweat of our brow
A craft that seems outdated
And no longer any use now.
Each grave was dug to
An Individual coffin’s shape
With an allowance made for
The handles and the rope
No deviation of the sides by
Even the slightest little bit
Ensuring each grave allowed
An almost snug tailored fit.
Beating down the earth
To compact the ground
So there was little shrinkage
Of a grave’s earthen mound,
The relaying of the turf
The floral tributes laid
Mourners final thoughts
Carefully displayed
We took pride in our work
Felt each family should expect
Their deceased loved one to be
Sent off with honour and respect.
No, no mechanical diggers
Just a man’s strength and skill
And a gathering of the villagers
To show support and goodwill.
My phone is my connection to the world
All my friends text me
Every single day
Influencers tell me what to think, do, and say
Everyone I admire is here with one click
Movies are at my fingertips
From the time I wake up
Until late at night
I'm glued to my phone
Oh what a sight
Momma says," Put away your phone.
You're missing out!"
How can that be
I can see every music video
Medication for when I'm sick
Even clothes to wear
Thats pretty slick
If I have a question
My phone will second guess me
Sends information from across the web
Matches my browsing while I am in bed
Momma says," The influencers are instigators and don't let you think.
All the text messages
Are repeats and stink.
If you want to see the world,
Give it a whirl without your phone.
You might be surprised,
At what you will find!"
Oak trees from tiny acorns grow.
I know that this is true,
It did not happen to me,
Has it happened to you?
I was a tiny baby,
That grew into a little girl
I always thought that maybe
I would be tall with blonde hair and curls.
What happened? Well, you may ask
That oak tree acorn thing
It never came to pass
My acorn did not flourish much,
It grew to a particular stage
Then it went berserk: To grow?
No, to combat my old age.
I am losing height
At the rate of knots
I shall soon disappear,
If this shrinkage doesn't stop.
So I say, Bah Humbug
What a lot of Tommy Rot
It may happen to Oak trees
But an Oak tree I am not!
Write Big or Go Home
I’ve seen some swollen poems, that come in dragging on the floor
Written by the brave, till someone knocks upon their door
Each time that we back down, more trolls will come and dance
It’s sad to see grown poets, with so much shrinkage in their pants
I’m often called a bully and shunned by the elite
But I hold my head up high and can stand on both my feet
It’s best to stand your ground, ignoring will not work
Make sure and use your words each time you see a jerk
I’m strong in my beliefs, my resolve will never bend
Keep your poems big and watch out for each friend
I don’t care what others think, I’m good with the “what for”
Very few will have the poems to come pounding on my door