Short Backyards Poems
Short Backyards Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Backyards by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Backyards by length and keyword.
if it rome or here at home
they love the sight
of country day light
there day
as they play
it started
its
KIDS AND BACKYARDS
I'll make you rich
Marry me and shame them
The boo boys in our
Rural backyards who call me
A schomane for life
Schomane: a derogatory term for a man whose heart and mind are ruled by a fear of women
The night feels surreal,
in flight in my dressing gown
Swooping through backyards,
I reach to save them from loss,
but find myself falling down.
Written for the contest 'Tanka me a Dream"
tara jennings
Silver edges lands
as dawn widens and dewdrops
sprinkle backyards where tulips
are sunk deep. Sunsets
cup with their red yellow skies
as stars burst through night
black as her eyes, closing
like petals so soft, easy
to gently kill.
Arboreal chum noodle trunk gesticulating
Male pattern baldness syndrome squiggles
Trigonometry Palisades uneven ripple
Framework salmon people
Rise evangelical steeple
Pigmentation feeble
Hillock molehills
Hedgerow backyards
Autumnal equinox
Baby feet smell like powders, lotions, and sweet, sweet, newness
They grow so fast, we harness the growth with shoes, to slow them
Yet they dance free of restraints, in the soft grassy backyards of spring
Sandra Hudson 1/27/2012
On your feet contest
by: nette oncloud
Hot Tubs
Tin bathtubs were hung in backyards, it’s true
They were brought in on bath night, right on cue
Good old ma would fill the tub
Then give us a soapy scrub
Hot tubs ain’t new, had 'em in old days too.
3rd May 2021
A Victoria long weekend
Is a long weekend
In the month of May
A gathering allowed
The rue was announced
Only small gatherings
Allowed to be held
Parks of any kind not
allowed
Just held in backyards
Waiting for darkness
then fireworks begin
Sleep interrupted
To wake from sound sleep
Loud pops noises heared
Loudly for hours
Until all is quiet
Once again to sleep
soundly
Passion torn without remorse
Screamed in rage but now I’m hoarse
Frustration hidden, turned to pain
Posters flimsy, fiercely waved
Causes spend our youthful
For faithless men you dare not trust
Watched our leaders backroom trade
Saw our numbers flux and fade
Saw two children, both my own
Saw my rage as time on loan
In backyards saw transcendent me
Love suburban-born reality.
It's such a thrill to hear the trill
Of birds up in the trees.
The notes just spill from every bill
In melodies to please.
With every frill the backyards fill,
A concert most delightful.
Their innate skill means hearers will
Perk up at every biteful.
We know the drill - they'll sing until
They stop; it isn't for us.
Then all is still and we would kill
To hear just one more chorus.
From the very first time I set foot in this place,
I determined to prosper,
Ekpoma,
like a work bench,
and a technician's manual on instrumentation,
reaches for instruments,
of vitality,
with market gestures,
and a gesticulating culture,
in the land of the living,
under a plastic cloud of mood swings,
hanging partly by a vegetable spine,
of subsistence backyards,
and Friendswillpower Enterprise
The summer was always so much fun
-- When we were young --
We'd jump fences and run through backyards
-- when we were young --
Boys were icky and really gross too
-- when we were young --
Best friends were forever and ever
-- when we were young --
A pinky promise was sacred
-- when we were young --
and now in my 60s I want to go back to
-- when we were young --
Epistrophe form ©SamHarty
Take me to the hill
from which the rainbow rises
to pay ancestors’ tribute.
Share the memories
handed down by mighty chiefs,
warriors who loved the land.
Harmony once reigned
between their tribes and nature
until white men invaded.
Interstates now run
through our backyards -- urban sprawl.
Endangered is our future.
*Entry for Chris's contest, but originally written for Rick's "Ancient Songs" contest.
Scraped walls
with graffiti all over them
Old house
with cardboard for its base
Abandoned backyards
devoid of flowers grace
Honey lit doors
with their damaged face
Shattered windows
without any breathing trace
Evacuated homes
all around this place
This dry ground
has seen bloodsheds
Those big rocks
have been someone's escape
This whole scene
is made 'cause of disdain
this horrid event
screams humans shouldn't hate.
-Aayushi Passi
A loving place where I did once dwell
but will never be allowed to return
You are the spring that feeds the stories I tell
the keeper of the things that I have learned
Each step I take is filled with memories
from a life that I once knew
Every smell from flower and tree
pulls my thoughts back to you
There in those backyards of my memories
I recall my pledge from so long ago
That I will remain open and free
and cling to youth and never let go
Fading Memories
for just a moment
our love existed
then like a mist
it was gone
the sight of red roses growing
in backyards
remind me of the time
we spent together
and seared petals
that bloomed to early
withered in the light
herbs thriving in drooping baskets
from rooftops
makes me think of you
prosperous veggies
in the backyard
make me smile
the thing I missed the most
is your strong shoulders
taking me in your arms
carrying my weaken body
into your palace
Despite the heaviness of grief,
I am beginning to feel that magic
that comes with Spring in Kentucky
The beauty of blooming flowers and trees
the bluegrass starts to grow
the bees flitter about, polinating
and distrubuting the magic
the animals and their babies
start coming out in natural places
with the occasional wildlife
turning up in backyards and parks
Children flock to parks and open spaces
Kentucky is a magical place year round,
but esspecially in Spring!
I travel hither and beyond with the feet of a goose
Clumsy I be, falling over my own tail feathers;
Okay by me. I spill Kool-Aide too
making no apologies
as I barely notice.
I am called back to listen to complaints
They bother me not; I am busy trying to untangle myself.
Things are happening in backyards and in closets
I am not privy to them, and I feel relief.
Are you aware?
No, I say blissfully.
Not wanting to be bothered.
Wanting to be free from the ideas of others.