Rudimentary Poems - Poems about Rudimentary

Change is Graceland when you're close to the edge. Future memories, wonderous stories, our tales of tomorrow, yesterday and today awaken words on living pages. 10 percent emptiness minus the realities of life--pauses--serves to endear one's flight into discarnate realms periodic of physical death to prime prisms of Guiding Light. Poignant captures of succulent end times by planet Earth preferentials, reveals our tortoise track to conscious...

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Lonely repose in the calm lake make sense for sake birds flock to show, nests build so low. Sunbeams brightly through my locked gaze spring is on rise soul is quite live, Biding revive. Not deemed useless, the deeds recall due to time fall wicked blunder, kindred wonder. Written: July 18, 2021 A BRIAN STRAND your pick Poetry Contest Sponsored by: Brian Strand...

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When we did see the rudimentary, We decided to name her Dorothy; Memory miser, Left under visor; Sang do ray and would forget me. She always gave to the cause; Was last seen in Wizard of Oz; By crow scared; Lion fair haired, And tin man with metal paws. Rainbow in air was found floating, And around lake had been boating; Witch appeared, Who we feared; Watch Wizard of...

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RUDIMENTARY MASTERPIECE a curt four year old grimacing at scrawl comments, “that’s ugly. what is it?” i teach the sicklier of two twins to reply with the truth, “i’m not finished, yet!” the impressive duo of longsuffering — a pair of candlesticks in God’s presence. remember the next time someone interrupts your opus ink, your rudimentary masterpiece, drip some wax, seal your verse...

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Hate as much as you wish, but the jerk,the jolt,the pound,the thrust experienced by a tender drop happen to be the sharp engravings upon the chest of the robust rock. Never trained to peep cautious, never taught to note whispers the wounded embryo recovers soon to find that neither the market noise nor even the mid day light but it is some dim remote wink that...

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So near and so far you live together sorting through the detritus of life. * The erosion sends back the gravel, the sand and silt of human script. * The violence, will it end someday ? Asks a child playing with a time...

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