Short Bristle Poems
Short Bristle Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Bristle by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Bristle by length and keyword.
Ideas and vivid images I soon find
Bristle and crowd my mind;
Stirred from sensations hidden below
Now on streaked palettes flow.
Do not park
Under a tree
And then bristle
About bird droppings
Atop your car
I'm just sayin'
Date written and posted: 10/27/2017
Form:
They ask their burning questions
Then flinch when ours appear near
And when no answers find them
They bristle at what they can’t hear
My Mother liked to whistle
Which made my Father bristle
Although Mum whistled well
Dad thought it unladylike for a gel
To whistle, abyssal
Penny was lost in the city
A passing young lad thought her pretty
He gave her a whistle
This made Penny bristle
She scowled at the lad, what a pity
The bristle of our skins,
the taste of the mouth,
the awakening of the smell,
the anticipation of pleasure
are precipitated forms
of harmonious coexistence
between the pure amalgam
and body vibration.
Hard-working, calloused hands
firmly imprint ridges upon my back.
Your sandpaper face, like a fine file,
smooths against my neck gently.
Like your rugged bristle terrain,
my arm hairs stand erect.
11-7-19
Your sound flew through the air,
A blaring auditory missile,
Though no one that I noticed
Seemed to cringe or even bristle.
The driver of the bus, however,
Waited just a bissel,*
Enough to let on board the man
Inspiring this epistle.
*little bit in Yiddish
Captive of the heart
You are a willing prisoner
You fain the life, a poet's soul
And bristle when love, like writers block
Amplifies the anguish
And tolerates your impotence
Above all, time is not a comfort
It ticks down louder and slower
Until time stops and stills it's beat
She says I am a bear this morning
- my hairs bristle,
apparently I’m unbearable.
I tell her I love
park rangers and children,
mention that I am more
an amiable walrus.
She’s not buying
the whole walrus thing.
I follow her to the breakfast table
growling,
black coffee in hand.
Small crickets chirping
Wonder what may be lurking
Gentle limbs bristle
The wind a lunar whistle
Moonlight from above
Casts shadows to below
A distant howl of wolves
Their intentions may be cruel
A few croaks from a pond
When you look for them they’re gone
The beauty of the night
Until broken by the dawn
She thought she had nothing to gain
and posing for it would be a pain
but son insisted
against her wishes
her portrait gaining a lot of fame
Women would look at it and bristle
holding tight onto their epistles
but not their men
they loved the new trend
her long black dress making them whistle.
10-24-17
There was a rustle
With a madden hustle
We huddled inward
Exhaling all doubts
Thus Cringing
with each fated steps
To unveil your hidden passions
Bestowed by natures’ cravings
Vested by the driven breezy wind
enclosed within a canopy of clouds
Enveloping our world
Causing a bristle
Thus stirring a drizzle
Form:
Kranz cramps heat—sheath seals, seeds seethe
Turgor swells, culms quake
Veins pulse, bundle hums
Carbon snaps, stomata whisper
Drought yields, husks harden
Grains glitter, spine bends
Kranz folds, sheath tightens
Seeds bristle, stomata sigh
Dormancy waits, Kranz cramps heat—sheath seals, seeds seethe
What choice has bittersweet despair,
A dying rose,
An empty chair.
Shall I then grieve and weep for thee
And temper broken heart and soul
So I can cherish one more gaze
Of happiness, of summer days
And bristle with abiding love
Of life cast now in shade and brook,
This ebb which pains with force and fate
United soon through heavens gate.
Bleeds
Pleads
Begs
Love leaks down his sleeve
Bone and bristle
Heart reaped
Soul raped
A broken man with homeless face
Waiting
Meekly at hells fiery gates
Dreams in a bottle
Messages from above
Broken glass cuts deep
Into rivers red of bloody consumption
The earth takes what the pregnant give
Spitting away
The butterflies
That hover and hope
For better days
A high silhouette,
lucidly etched, a raptor,
feathers flickering in sunlight,
a thing carved
and branded in a window of space,
an osprey.
It plunges, strikes the filmy dazzle
a bristle of talons,
and there on the face of the water
it cleaves its own swooping shadow.
Then it mounts the sky once more;
a shimmering fish
looks back
at its last swim.
Old Man
his weatherbeaten face, lined
with the hills and valleys of age
watery blue eyes set against a
backdrop of bloodshot white
his cheeks reddened from
sun and alcohol, his aquiline
nose has lost its nobility
his once full lips now just
scowling lines covering remnants
of jagged teeth
his stubble covered chin now
a dirty gray bristle
life has not been kind to him
Bristle summer days
In a land full of flowers and mountains....
—I love the warmth of your embrace
that makes pleasure worthwhile
and worries far away
In the winter night,
Saving me from the coldness and drawing me closer,
My heart thumps at the thought of your neglect
treat me like a plant
hide me in a pot,
protect my parts
and at the end, don't give me away
© Kafe3lah
His wheel completed her ride
His Ferris wheel whistle blew at her carousel bristle
sending a shrivel as his eyes bore into hers and tickle
On playground of love was biggest attraction from above
his hands coveting his little dove to his fancy thereof
She jumped on his ride taking a spin with a big happy grin
the hot breeze touching her skin as he bore on and in
connie pachecho
1/11/17
Writing outside
where the failing wind
sources my contours
the whoosh of irreverent travel
slips the ear
and the bristle yap of a garden dog
above mist swords
and billowed edges
whisper in a diluted sun
set for another encore
grass tantalises with samba sways
and bushes wave their tendrilled fingers
in evenings gaps
golden ashes transmute to dirt
as dancing flies
cool in disputed thermals
My Dogs
How happy my dogs are to find a tree.
Raising one leg, what fun it is to pee.
They are a disciplined crew.
All three line up in a queue.
When they are done, a flowing stream you’ll see!
My Cat
I have a pet, a little tabby cat
She likes to curl inside my frilled brown hat
She has bristle like whiskers
Not strong as that of tuskers
In daylight she sprawls on my woolly mat
A September chill pierces the morning
cutting through my open window.
Sharp air nips past naked ankles
as Autumn nibbles into my day.
Wasps sift September with regret
buzzing the fading scent of roses.
Tart apples sweep mellow branches
savouring a wind sweetened rain.
Chestnut burrs bristle spiny green
pregnant with mahogany clusters.
Crumpled leaves huddle in garden corners
crunching crooked for warmth.
MMC © 2011
The bristled Heart
Crafted symphony, unkempt words
Bristle the fragile heart,
Like a cat she walks gently
But gives a deafening roar;
A heart tender and calm could take no more.
A sudden rush and hush
It's neither a push nor a pull,
But discord sown, one at a time.
At the turning point of time of limelight;
She cried of no return nor remorse,
A seedling pain sits deep within,
Only a time shall heal the wound.
If you Listen closely on a quiet evening
during a starry filled night
breathlessly still without a breeze.
you might hear the salty sea
singing in waves which crash to a beat
against the beach in rhythmic time
dancing its way back onto the sea floor
To the tune of the musicians
behind the bar the brittle stars,
sea cucumbers, sea stars, snails,
clams, bristle worms, and crabs
the orchestra of the sea.