Life Pantoum Poems | Examples
These Life Pantoum poems are examples of Pantoum poems about Life. These are the best examples of Pantoum Life poems written by international poets.
A porcelain vein under my skin,
Open burning of doll's eyes,
Girl rising to a pink end —
This just daybreak
Open burning of doll's eyes,
Black fire in her hair,
Girl rising to a pink end —
~Remember~ her shelf life, bare
Black fire in her hair,
Girl rising to a pink end,
~Remember~ her shelf life, bare —
A porcelain vein under my skin
You and I
You and I together
working as a team.
Over rugged mountains,
across raging streams.
Working as a team
through dark valleys of despair.
Across raging streams,
life’s bridges we repair.
Through dark valleys of despair
our love light shines the way.
Life’s bridges we repair, so,
they permanently can stay.
Our life light shines the way, for
our hopes, joys, dreams and sorrows.
So, they permanently can stay,
For you and I together.
I want phone calls and grizzly bear hugs,
human touch not a face on a screen;
Just one person to caress my skin,
remind me that there is still a ‘Real’;
Human touch not a face on a screen,
the heartache inside of me may ease;
Remind me that there is still a ‘Real’,
a version of life with five senses;
The heartache inside of me may ease,
some kindred spirits are so far away;
A version of life with five senses,
imagine what we could do with that;
Some kindred spirits are so far away,
it’s callous when that’s all that I want;
Imagine what we could do with that
natural high that overwhelms us;
It’s callous when that’s all that I want,
just one person to caress my skin;
Natural high that overwhelms us,
I want phone calls and grizzly bear hugs.
I've Given Up
I’ve given up on chasing stars,
On mending scars with broken jars.
The weight of dreams too far to reach,
Has stolen words I used to preach.
I’ve given up on morning light,
On battles waged in endless night.
The fires once burned in my chest,
Now smolder, silent, laid to rest.
I’ve given up on hope’s cruel song,
A melody that played too long.
Its promises, a fleeting breeze,
That left me kneeling, weak, diseased.
I’ve given up on looking back,
On counting footprints in the track.
Each step a burden, heavy, gray,
That led me further, led astray.
But even here, within this fall,
Where shadows rise and silence calls,
A whisper stirs, a breath remains—
Perhaps I've given up on pain.
For in the ashes, cold and still,
A seed might sprout, defy the will.
Though I’ve surrendered, broken through,
It seems the world won’t give up too.
@~rhazacq.
According to Quebec Health rules.
On welfare 95% you pay.
And my mind is like twisted tools
Living in a nursing home is this way.
On welfare 95% you pay.
Life in a gold cage ; few perks here.
Living in a nursing home is this way.
And foodie events bring cheer.
Life in a gold cage ; few perks here.
My own room .Sunday eggs and bacon.
Foodie events bring cheer.
I live here with little cash taken.
My own room . Sunday eggs and bacon.
And my mind is like twisted tools
Live here with little cash taken.
According to Quebec Health rules.
Opening the door onto your secret,
my heart pounds at the display of old wounds.
Healing achieved by clinging to nothing—
a future only obliquely glimpsed.
My heart pounds at the display of old wounds
where other’s careless words and barbs had pierced.
A future only obliquely glimpsed
through a whiskey bottle nearly empty.
Where other’s careless words and barbs had pierced,
going through life like that makes one anxious.
Through a whiskey bottle nearly empty,
discontent is always triggered by something.
Going through life like that makes one anxious;
healing achieved by clinging to nothing.
Discontent is always triggered by something—
opening the door onto your secret.
Outlasting all my friends and some family,
I wish to live to be one hundred twenty.
A plethora of days to write poetry
as my last petals fall, grandkids a’plenty.
I wish to live to be one hundred twenty.
All my parts working, brain, heart, eyes, and ears.
As my last petals fall, grandkids a’plenty,
what an ideal way to live out my years.
All my parts working, brain, heart, eyes, and ears...
Think, at that age, if my life were well-spent,
what an ideal way to live out my years
on those days that go like this one just went.
Think, at that age, if my life were well-spent
a plethora of days to write poetry.
On those days that go like this one just went,
outlasting all my friends and some family.
Starting full, a beauty complete.
The sun circles and circles once more.
The toll it came and so they fall.
It continues to thrive, just less.
The sun circles and circles once more.
Beauty grows a mask.
Unseen at first, the death doesn’t kill.
The sun circles and circles once more.
It reached sand claws, tries to fight.
Efforts unknown, futile, lacking.
The sun circles and circles once more.
Changing colors seen as beauty.
At last all bare, no hiding left.
The sun circles and circles once more.
Stripped open releasing.
Welcoming, ending.
The sun circles once more.
I choose to sing
a gentle song
in a soft ballad
I find my time and place.
A gentle song
in peace and love
I find my time and place
on a makeshift stage.
In peace and love
in subtleties of verse
on a makeshift stage
a new life I create.
In subtleties of verse
and in nuances of lyrics
a new life I create
intimacy found.
And in nuances of lyrics
feelings of my heart are conveyed
intimacy found
my performances graded and scored.
Feelings of my heart are conveyed
as I take my turn.
I chose to sing
a gentle song.
Night breaking up for the sun to fall,
Its colorwise veil disperse on her snagged back—
By morning, she lays her black cup down
For she is the will of light.
Its colorwise veil disperse on her snagged back,
Dark worthy of van Gogh or Kinkade;
For she is the will of light—
The night becomes daybreak.
Dark worthy of van Gogh or Kinkade;
By morning, she lays her black cup down;
The night becomes daybreak—
Night breaking up for the sun to fall.
Spring tones, the blues— creature sky must come down,
For Summer will chip on flowers cut under ploughs,
Power now shared by crows long before Autumn's fast,
And Winter then, snowing hard with a forest's bare; bony abs.
For Summer will chip on flowers cut under ploughs
Out of our brief life; peeping, concerned heads,
And Winter then, snowing hard with a forest's bare; bony abs—
Though it is God in that, that must be wept for;
Out of our brief life; their peeping, concerned heads,
Power now shared by crows long before Autumn's fast,
Though it is God in that, that must be wept for—
Spring tones, the blues— creature sky must come down.
Wanted that first kiss submerging my lips.
Snow White’s open carriage embracing life.
Underscore of green eyes, seized by the sea.
At the lap of waves, over my deck, a song.
Snow White’s open carriage embracing life.
The death of innocence engulfed in Him.
At the lap of waves, over my deck, a song
springs forth like a fountain, mellifluous.
The death of innocence engulfed in Him,
Carried in ebb and flow, and rhythm of rapture.
Springs forth like a fountain, mellifluous,
The impending peak of a soulful harmony.
Carried in ebb and flow, and rhythm of rapture.
Colors explode, like bubbles, as mood crests -
The impending peak of a soulful harmony.
The softness of liquid smoothing out a pebble.
Colors explode, like bubbles, as mood crests.
Underscore of green eyes, seized by the sea.
Gentleness of liquid smoothing out a pebble.
Wanted that first kiss submerging my lips.
"Sunsets are loved because they vanish." - Ray Bradbury
Days like this, I could forget
If they were all to vanish,
Come to an end in a sunset
Black clouds I'd ever banish
If they were all to vanish
As skies of orange and blue,
Black clouds I'd ever banish
If that were so easy to do
As skies of orange and blue
Take place here, now and then,
If that were so easy to do
I'd paint them with my pen
Take place here, now and then
Needed for only a little while,
I'd paint them with my pen
If only I had such style
Needed for only a little while
Come to an end in a sunset,
If only I had such style
Days like this, I could forget.
With patience slow down the loss of youth,
it will inevitably get here soon enough;
Live in the moment black sheep rebel!
As you did, as you would, at sixteen;
It will inevitably get here soon enough,
paint each day gently no need to blitz;
As you did, as you would, at sixteen,
give yourself to the pull of heartstrings;
Paint each day gently no need to blitz,
each stroke adds to this canvas of life;
Give yourself to the pull of heartstrings,
ambitiously dream on a grande scale;
Each stroke adds to this canvas of life,
mundane hues or a spirited party;
Ambitiously dream on a grande scale,
lest you just survive microscopic;
Mundane hues or a spirited party,
live in the moment black sheep rebel;
Lest you just survive microscopic,
with patience slow down the loss of youth.
The soft breeze whispered in a barely heard whiff.
Emptiness enveloped the lovely old park
Past life has been hard and now all are dead stiff.
Hot tears rolled down my cheeks as day became dark.
Emptiness enveloped the lovely old park
All six played around the opposing benches
Hot tears rolled down my cheeks as day became dark.
Young girls dreamed of becoming famous wenches
All six played around the opposing benches
Memories tumbled haphazardly in mind.
Young girls dreamed of becoming famous wenches
Knew instinctively we were loving and kind
Memories tumbled haphazardly in mind.
Not easy to forget those difficult years
Knew instinctively we were loving and kind
Recall all we said echoing in my ears
Not easy to forget those difficult years
Life had its plans for us as each departed
Recall all we said echoing in my ears
The lonely park we became broken-hearted
Life had its plans for us as each departed
Past life has been hard and now all are dead stiff.
The lonely park we became broken-hearted
The soft breeze whispered in a barely heard whiff.
FICTION