Short Blanch Poems
Short Blanch Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Blanch by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Blanch by length and keyword.
There once was a singer with a white glove
Who concealed kinky expressions of love
At his 'Neverland Ranch'
The weird stuff made folks blanch
For the love in his glove came with a shove
WEE LITTLE SEAS
These little boats float in wee little seas,
And tall walls of rock do blanch in the breeze.
A leprechaun waterfall.
Park will need an overhaul,
When small lad, Lee, takes an afternoon pee.
4/4/2018
The fruit
Apples, grapes, pears
Held in a bowl so rare
Heat water, it is now impallid.
Salad
impallid -verb- to blanch(blanch par boil but also to dip in hot water for a brief period to make the skin turn loose).
in negative temperature
on whitened branch
refracting winter's dark
inversing frosted blanch
pitch to mirrored pool
of symmetry below
in opposite of dual -
serene in its afterglow
© Goode Guy 2013-08-05
for David Wilson's "The Reflected Tree"
for the Charles Taylor Arts Center
ekphrastic poetry event 2013-08-11
Indistinct things
In night’s malaise
Mar morning haze.
We slowly die
Across far sky
On scalloped wings.
September hones
Away the nights—
Blur city lights—
Bleach pale claw marks
Above brown parks
Fading to bones.
Summer now flees—
Blanch indigo
Of afterglow—
Patina wind—
Yesterday’s sin
Of twisting leaves.
Form:
Indistinct things
In night’s malaise
Mar morning haze.
We slowly die
Across far sky
On scalloped wings.
September hones
Away the nights—
Blur city lights—
Bleach pale claw marks
Above brown parks
Fading to bones.
Summer now flees—
Blanch indigo
Of afterglow—
Patina wind—
Yesterday’s sin
Of twisting leaves.
Wednesday's the middle of the sandwich
equidistant from weekends -- unhitched
Plenty of room for all those toppings
ketchup, mayo and rain showers -- she's sopping
How unjust, other days' inequitable ways
they'd blanch at my nickname of 'Hump Day'...
Alas, ignominy grinds on; the day's not yet over
~ Tomorrow's Thursday, that four-leaf clover
Never let Death hold your hand,
My mother used to say.
He'll promise you time's sands
While slipping lethargy into your veins.
His nails will seem of luminous silver,
His teeth of polished jewels.
But when observed without night's cover,
They'll reveal themselves blanch as ghouls.
So should he ever fill your eye,
Or reside beneath your ear,
Best you heed him no free mind
While praying to nether he disappear.
Resting beneath this heavy avalanche
My heart turned from summer to winter
Ice caused my lips to blanch
Couldn't get enough by the shudder.
My feet got cold as they were exposed
To season's numb disposition
But my love for her didn't repose
Though I was losing my recognition.
Time and again, without even refrain
The end was running closer to me
My wicked body benumbed, couldn't feel pain
Yet my heart was still yearning to thee.
My hat has a gardenia that refuses to behave.
She throws a fit that would make a Neanderthal cave.
I asked what she needed, what helps, what does she crave?
She said she always wanted a close straight razor shave.
But wouldn’t that hurt you as you are made of straw?
She gave me a look that made my heart blanch and turn raw.
A gardenia and yet, she is as abusive as a rabid jackdaw.
I wish my hat had instead a dead rooster’s lifeless claw.
“The Eagle Grasps”
There rose betwixt the turquoise seas,
Two garnish’d wings of crimson pride,
They bloom! Behold, what liberty!
To strecth untangl’d ‘cross the sky.
She did not wander, did not blanch,
The eagle grasp'd with her hands,
The hearts of all the world and then,
Chain’d them down—to equal men.
There! She glides, o, may her glide,
And never thus in passing by,
Let us beneath her shadow lie,
Or say that freedom’s flame hath died.
A cacophonic silence,
A mere blanch of a catastrophic faliure,
A maroon in a sickening mirage,
'tis a shade one more,
As a ray one less,
Fairing smiles adiue,
Requiem of a chastised face,
Lay a bed,
O'er wond'rous, to waste.
Where'n freshen lie fast in his daze,
Merry may go his hour,
Time shroud.
However vivid,
a weary slumber ,
Is but man's sorry tire,
Weeping sore,
Once dreaded in languishment,
Once cowered behind the stars.
Not an eye unopened,
Nor a God that sleeps.
In fountains of birth I laugh.
It's a getter done and a formal wig.
Can't recall the last time I cared.
Can't recall the last time I wondered.
In genuous hills I frollick.
I go like a pyramid: perfectly sad.
How does it work
when your best friend dies,
Don't touch me or act like your brother.,
I sail on waves, I dont define.
Love her or hate her,
it's in the same boat.
Join us now in the fretting tides,
we blanch our eyes
until they go wondering
into sleepful wakes