Second Poems - Poems about Second

The ass on high protein diet Thinks he can really fight the beast The beast has lost his instincts and He is struggling to just live The genius is being mocked Mediocrity is being preserved Monk is yelling abuses The preacher is moaning in the jail The poet prophecied of "second coming" I can just cry for him...

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Must every second always count eyes focused on the prize Must purpose color our every act ‘til every vista’s funereal black ...

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Second Thoughts** Falling in love with someone you can never truly be with can be haunting. We hide behind filtered photos—wearing a smile, using body language as our shield. As poets, we feel deeply; we observe and express our emotions through the words we write. My heart is weary—so weary. (Elizabeth Browning) Our tone...

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Present cannot set advantage Over past, that seems like gone Though it’s always on the verge Of the memories you prone To belong to, while intending To break free from shades of time Partly loosing understanding Doesn’t look at all sublime But it goes like Latin dictum Drive the nature out of door Then it flies back home to victim Through the window, like before. ...

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In a world of haste and make believe where time is a most valuable commodity, do we really want to miss chasing rainbows and cuddling kittens, taking the scenic route and smelling the roses along our way? Sometimes a detour is the best shortcut....

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every second is a choice I could draw a cartoon play with my dogs clean the refrigerator every minute is a choice I could paint a canvas write thirty-two poems vacuum the house every day is a choice I could meet my friends read other people’s poems wash the dishes cleaning the refrigerator vacuuming the house and washing the dishes are out I could read other people’s poems though...

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if you want to do something logical ~ at least think about it first if this advice feels illogical ~ it’s probably just your bubble burst by David Kavanagh...

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In a labyrinth of time, every second is a grain of sand scattered, everything hurts: old age is a veil of shadow over my thoughts, and death, an old acquaintance, draws closer with every tick of the clock, an old man like me can vanish in an instant, like a star that fades away, leaving behind only memories and...

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First time around, I slowly locked him out and threw away the keys. Memories of him fell like Autumn leaves. In reality, he was a father that I thought I really knew. But in reality, he was also a father I never really knew. It was when I was shown a different view that he became someone entirely new. After years, and not...

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Second chances might not be Quite what you expect When you hope to try again At the exact same circumstance Mistakes are made each day By each and everyone And maybe everyone gets to try again Just not the way they think They think they'll get a chance To right the wrongs they made To love her right the second time When the first...

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Every minute is a choice I could go to the Dollar store Could get gas Could get my hair cut Could sit in the dog pen with my dogs If I cancel my lunch date with three friends I could get my teeth whitened, Could attend a lecture on Sully Could look for my lost emerald ring Because I am getting lazy And it is...

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A heron watched me from painted rushes, brush-stroked by a man who lived in a wagon lacquered with stars and road-dust and wind, who sometimes drank too much and thundered. They say he wandered for years, trading canvases for bread, for gas, for silence— until his heart gave out beneath a turquoise sky. His wagon still sat out back, faded scallops of red and...

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My Hands Today My hands are getting old today. They are getting old right in front of my eyes. I suppose the rest of my face is following, But I can not see that happening. There is some peace in that, But my hands…? I don’t mind hard work. I never minded hard work. I liked hard...

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The outlook wasn’t brilliant for the Mudville nine that day; The score stood four to two, with but an inning left to play. And when Cooney fell at first, and Barrows met the same, A hush of sorrow drifted down upon the homeward game. A scattered few were rising, hats pulled low to shade their pride, While others stared in...

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I have seen the sky begin again, After storms had bruised its face— A tender hush, a breathless hush, That made the world a softer place. The river does not hold regret, It carves new songs through stone and sand, And every willow learns to bend, When winter presses on the land. So let my heart, though bruised and torn, Begin again with morning’s...

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