Short Adaptation Poems
Short Adaptation Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Adaptation by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Adaptation by length and keyword.
Children learn from
Their environment
They are like sponges
Even from early years
They act as you would
Like them to act in the future.
My Blood, Polluted
My Face, Masked
My Name, Silenced
Inferiority, My master
Adaptation, My Inheritance
Assimilation, My Friend
Adaptation is survival
Consistent influences warrant
Adaptation
External influences
Transform thoughts
Into internal
Influences
Survival has no morals
Form:
The grass rustles
after nightfall—
armadillos hunting.
_________________________
For Brian's Adaptation Contest
Inspired by the work of Buson.
This guy is that low
he could parachute
out of a snakes ars*hole,
then still free fall.
adaptation of a stage joke
by the Australia comic
Les Patterson...
© Harry J Horsman 2013
The light-shadows of conscience are screaming,
They try to wake up the HUMAN inside,
They protest against the natural inclination for comfort,
Against adaptation to the society.
Sledding times past
Linger into view
An adaptation,
A graduation,
Newness of goals foreseen,
"Two day old moon,
Tell of a journey's end,
Listen also if you May
I'll tell of odious ramblings..."
I AM my affirmation,
This is my creation.
I AM proud of this adaptation,
Of molecular mutation.
I AM aware of the vibration,
Raising mine to the occasion.
Choosing my best of each situation,
I become my affirmation.
Sound
of bats
hump back whales
communication
creatures learned long ago
adaptation to their world
Sonar echo's the sounds of life
AgMoore©, This is a Clarity Pyramid
Form:
Reading books, watching films,
an endless fascination,
creating anticipation,
with wildfires of imagination.
Judging books, that never works,
with second-hand information,
or based on expectations,
from someone's film adaptation.
Temples protection organic ingestion
Universe to billions adaptation has no ceiling
Seeking not truth we own the question
We are here for one thing, than that thing is feeling ..
......................more to Come ........................
As i lay my head to sleep
I hear a sound, a scratch, a creep
A fall outside my bedroom door
Then silence, the sound exists no more
Again i hear a steady caw
A crow, as though, to something saw
Awake was i, for as i sit
Asleep in thought, my throat was slit
Form:
The shying of success
When thou call to success
To overcome temptation
and suffocation.
Adaptation of beneath
And low underneath
Befall upon the falling
Scheming of town and
properties.
Patience is the overcomer
extremely.
Don’t be in a hurry
It will be your turn sooner.
Have you discovered yourself?,
Ideas?
Adaptation to the climate?,
A feeling of wholeness?,
What will fill that void?,
My best friend died at 33,
I read 66 books once,
I am depressed,
My character needs rest,
What is it we all need?
Sorry to give you,
The 33rd Decree.
Form:
Pondering pools of serenity
Graciously placed upon the rocks
Undisturbed, until the tides rise above
Forcing change upon them
Peaceful civilizations, momentarily interrupted
Using adaptation for survival
For change is inevitably thrust upon us
As often as the rising tides
If you plant dummy politicians
in the field of politics,
you will just feed on
decaying policy or corruption
the result is inevitable,
individual adaptation,
dramatic rises
in conspicuous consumption
social destruction,
and eruption,
the final stage,
reconstruction
I am a mountain of love
I will ignite you with passion from my core, burn with me.
I will show you my vast wilderness, explore me.
I will molten your desires, love me.
I will give you adventures, conquer me.
Together, we can achieve evolutionary adaptation, make me your abode.
Hope has to be more than just an expectation;
Hope has to be more than just aspiration.
Bringing hope to the world requires imagination;
it requires participation, preparation, inspiration and, yes, perspiration.
It requires adaptation, collaboration, determination,
motivation and obligation.
Hope is an action.
I used to think my strength was simple
I bend
I shift
I move
I read the room like scripture
Rewriting myself to fit it
That was my edge
My armor
My adaptation instinct sharpened to a blade
Strength gets sneaky
When you stop watching it
It grows roots
It grows rules
It grows into the only shape you remember
those notable occasions
away from home overnight
must be remembered
exceptional times
musical concert with friends
celebrating your freedom
in a strange city alone
your first broadway show
memorable opening
Written December 6, 2022
[adaptation suggested in contest
7-7-5/ 5-7-7/ 7/5/7 syllables]
I’m somebody! Who are you?
Are you somebody too?
Then there’s a pair of us – do tell!
We must advertise – you know!
How dreary to be nobody!
More worthless than a frog
Who without a name - croaks all day
To be a bump on a log!
For: Brian Strand’s Adaptation contest
Poet : Emily Dickinson
Poem: I’m Nobody
a truth may as well be a lie ~ amid words acting a-priori
one goes for the visceral ~ luridly adding guts to be gory
two tries reducing terror ~ adaptation for the montessori
three wants to deny ~ with a false alibi in their inventory
most relevant side of any said story ~ evidence not glory
The grass is no longer strictly green
morning dew has turned to frost
it crunches in shades of yellow
when over it I walk.
The sky is clouded, over bearing
covering what was recalled
as springtime sun, and blue bonnets
fully in charge of the hill.
Nothing in this season
has been truly lost, the cost
of course is patience
and belief that new will happen again.
Time is different in its fulfilment
Yoruba status is unique in its path
Western education isn't enough reason to activate its abandonment
Black soap is good for bath
Worthy is informal education
Which equips the brain scans
I am made unique in its adaptation
Well enriched in the history of my clans
Face of the earth
Mask of heaven
Ritual to death
Done in seven
What happens to a shattered hope?
Does it break into pieces
like a broken glass?
Or gather wings like a bird
And then fly away?
Does it burst like a deflated balloon
or shine brightly and beautifully,
like a full moon?
Maybe it just lost hope
like a helpless trapped animal?
Or does it fall dead?
An adaptation of Langston Hughes poem ''Dream Deferred''
For the Copy-cat Contest