Short Blanching Poems
Short Blanching Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Blanching by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Blanching by length and keyword.
A short ditty
Or a simple wee verse
Ink barely spent before creases form
And then the darkness comes.
Jeans in the laundry
The scent of powder and softener
Blanching colours
As forgotten words wash away.
Form: Free Verse
As blossoms come forth
from covered seeds,
by blanching the shell of self
in time
the dawn of true understanding
will brighten effortlessly
from within-
rising high,
transforming to Light
the dark
of all our
bleakly imagined horizons....
'...the thorn in sharpened shade
weathers all loneliness.' Hart Crane
Branches scratch the sky
blanching the twilight
pale and gray,
the day is dying.
My way is dark and dismal,
the nightjar's distant cry
my only solace,
as I wander washed
in reveries of her, and wish
with all my heart
it could be different.
"...the thorn in sharpened shade
weathers all loneliness."
Hart Crane
Branches scratch the sky
blanching the twilight
pale and gray,
the day is dying.
My way is dark and dismal,
the nightjar's distant cry
my only solace.
I wander washed
in reveries of her, and wish
with all my heart
it could be different.
Iridescent crow wings
scatter ice particles, patches of air clatter.
Grackle claws engrave the frozen creek,
small owls emerge from blanching shadows,
fieldmice burrow into snow drifts.
A small stir in the flappable; facets
dazzle a dazed daylight.
A newly unearthed sky pauses to blink
life stutters, shimmers back
twice as bright.
There are no words
Only emotions
Raw and unrelenting
A petulant obsession
Blanching sight
My hands
Tools of asphyxiation
Choking prudence
Squeezing pulsating pens
Bound to a mute mistress
Who can read my mind
Like a blank piece of paper
Do I bed my muse
Or lie to my mother
Who held my trembling hand
When fear stole her slumber
And unspoken words
Her son
Zimbabwe
From shimmering oil
of ebony still
will come flailing of limbs
will come hacking
quick slashing
of hands now untied
tattooing no pattern
not even a maze
depriving gray walls
of their stone
will come spittle
wild churning rivers
agush from slack jaws
of blanching gray hounds
till one day at dawn
will come quiet
Donal Mahoney
Mozambique
From shimmering oil
of ebony still
will come flailing of limbs
will come hacking
quick slashing
of hands now untied
tattooing no pattern
not even a maze
depriving gray walls
of their stone
will come spittle
wild churning rivers
agush from slack jaws
of blanching gray hounds
till one day at dawn
will come quiet
Donal Mahoney
'...the thorn in sharpened shade
weathers all loneliness.'
-Hart Crane
Branches scratch the sky
blanching the twilight
pale and grey,
the day is dying;
my way is dark and dismal,
the nightjar's distant cry
my only solace
as I wander washed
in reveries of her and wish
with all my heart
it could be different.
'...the thorn in sharpened shade
weathers all loneliness.'
-Hart Crane
Branches scratch the sky
blanching the twilight
pale and grey,
the day is dying;
my way is dark and dismal,
the night jar's distant cry
my only solace
as I wander washed
in reveries of her and wish
with all my heart
it could be different.
Life Choices
Written: by Tom Wright.
7-20-2016
Tangible success or inner gratification,
Were the choices in life that I once faced.
My life could remain just an aberration,
And the family name, become disgraced;
Then I arrived at my road’s branching,
Firmly entrenched, I faced a life choice.
Trembling, I stood, with color blanching,
Jesus had given me cause to now rejoice.
Iris blue eyes that bright, azure beams strow
Lilly white neck with a radiant, translucent glow
Rosy cheeks blanching cotton swabs of milky snow
Viola black hair coiffed; silky strands strung in a tidy row
Magnolia-crescented bosom with a soft, silty furrow
Camellia-shaped paps that with sweet nectar flow
Butterfly Orchid legs; slender willows with tawny curves that billow
Anemone-cupped hands with graceful seams that her dignity doth sow
The glass once lucid
now deflects glow differently.
A chuckle clenched in the wind,
blanching and flaming.
Where were we?
Footprints echo, retreat, advance
sagging floor, missing nails.
Not long enough--
like a wheeze folding in and out,
a beam of light held in a still moment.
Sagging floor, nails missing,
steps forth, then retreat.
Where were we,
blanching and flaming,
a chuckle loosed in the wind—
now the glass, no longer lucid,
deflects the glow differently.
The frozen voice hangs on the
door. A crowd waits.
Midnight explosions
will start soon
to herald a benevolent sky-
for squatters.
In rise and fall of an empire
I won’t put any label
to generation drift. The
changing geography will
take care of the ashes.
A ragpicker will tell the story.
Ambulatory moon
had become economical, blanching
the stained dreams only
like our land’s wounds.
The sea of hate lies naked before us
to sweep the carcasses. I know not
how to become omnivorous.
Satish Verma