Short Bristles Poems
Short Bristles Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Bristles by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Bristles by length and keyword.
Bristles on a brush in paint
Stroke pictures of your love
Be filled with colors quaint
To pastel your hearts; thereof
The driving rain falls
like bristles of a old comb,
till chills consume me...
post
impressions
obsess
the scene
yellow
cataracts
colour
bristles
synthesise
in twisting
twirls
to console
a troubled
mind
I extend my humble hand
out toward its delicate glow
Sparse, inky bristles await
note I will ask them to paint
The message is sweetly short
Dear blank page: brighten our night
Shine on! shadows swirled with light
~Love In The Soft Breeze~
Thyn Soft Contentment, Leaves Me for the Love
Of Friends'. I Wish so much that thyn bristles
Fore What Thyn Friendships I Hope for, come nearer.
As Thyn swift thoughts, Mellow in the Breeze,
Which comes back, But thy contentment, for Love.
It fits in your palm
like flesh,
its firm plastic handle
the color of his skin.
Its bristles tingle
your scalp,
pass through your hair,
your tresses
like fingers of a lover.
Remember how he eased
that new word
across his lips: golden
tresses, giving you
the beauty of your hair.
Plain droplets plink downward risk-free.
Rain, that bristles on panes, weighty.
Rip-roaring, soaring, not boring,
as wind assists an outpouring.
Angled and claustrophobic dance.
Can’t see the light; cars take a stance.
Sky, a blue-gray, wiper flip-flops.
Shy, the soft pelts of ho-hum drops.
Rhyme - Halloween Horror
Her hair sizzles — stands on ends like the bristles of a broom.
The witch deserved it after her cheeky tricks and treats — a tart!
With flaming eyes of a jack-o’-lantern who’s been burned — the groom.
10/28/2018
Three Lines Writing Challenge
Sponsor - Dear Heart A.K.A. Broken Wings
Blue feathered beauty
of stained glass design
your song in the wind
is a whir and a whine.
Impatient and weary
of limbs swept and bare,
you tighten your grip
to unbosom a jeer
or bob from your perch
to rattle a cry
that bristles the crest
of a soul mate nearby.
February 12, 2019
Songbird Poetry Contest
It’s rusty, but no tetanus.
Bristles could scrub it off.
But burrows shed more.
The concept is like shoe laces.
One shoe can be tight and the other not.
An uneven mess.
Running low on spares.
Despair would even out the pavement.
Make our travels less terrible.
But we can’t control rust.
It’s jealous old rust.
C-rimson sun up above
L-ights up the Tuesday;
A-fter Monday night is gone,
R-aindrops fade away.
I-t's a beautiful birthday,
S-eventh February morn;
S-hadows have vanished,
A-nother woman is born.
G-irl with hair or bristles,
U-pper lip has in a flash;
R-apture is truly brought,
O-ne lady wears a mustache.
The blue clamminess of the bus night light
languishes over the interior
seats dissolve into background
background dissolves into sky
which dissolves within my eye
The chattering window bristles my attention
Neon trails of passing
night dwellers sprint past
Reflected glass me
sighs in unison
and looks at me as if i don't belong
As I run through the bristles of the trees
The pain gets worse as I collapse on my knees
Growing fur and fangs
I hear rattling chains
The hunt has begun
I'm still not sure if I have won
Something is near I have to get down
Pouncing silent I tackle him to ground
I speak to him the last words he will know
I am Waya Sado, the Wolf Shadow...
Form:
Put me through the
french knots. I am
under the gaze of
a jilted lover.
A freeze melts in
the rainbow. The dew
sits on the eyebrows
of the grass.
The spark splits
between the shadows.
Someone has hanged
himself from the window.
There was no life left
in the stump. Now
bristles will not stand
at ancient sites.
Satish Verma
Sometimes its bottled up
And hidden deep inside
I have no friend beside my paint brush
I have no life beyond these blank pages
my brushes,
my pen,my blank pages
Are all that i have
Every inch of power
Every kilogram of strength
Lies within these bristles
Beyond the borders of these pages
lies nothing related to me
If I step outside them
I become suicidal
ITTY BITTY SONG
Snip snip red hair
A pretty pretty long
Snip snip auburn light
While I sing this
Itty bitty song
Reveals a pale moon
So round o round
It reflects the pool
O round howdy hum
I hardly hear a sound
Thistles and cordial bristles
Grow out and downward
Flow in red sea waves
With an itch and a scratch
From side to sideward
Kim Rodrigues ©2017
My Symbiotic, Parasitic Self
How long have we lived here
Amongst each other
Sea like faces
Can’t help but catch a few
They glide so fast
Slippery and slick
From melted candle smoke
How blessed are these
Bristles black stone
Backbone
Heart as icy as tips of flames
Have to have a bit of both
Sucking on this planets life source
Is only a dream to some
The birthright of scum
Alone I stand
I love the colour of my skin,
Au naturel suave evergreen.
From head to toe, and deep within,
Each part of me, feels so serene.
Even the bristles, on my chin,
Tonsured daily, smooth shaven clean.
The only difference, with my twin,
While I am green, he's tangerine.
Hereditary, our kith and kin,
Diverse within the human gene.
8 / 13 / 2025.
No Rush
Hair brush through my hair, no rush.
The wrinkles will not slow, but time
slows on the satiny pillow, in throes.
The bed softly creaks as our eyes speak.
They do not stare as the fire sparks.
Familiar lips brush tender flesh, kindling
the oneness, the forever afterness.
The rush of internal flames combust
followed by serenity of tousled hair.
No rush to run bristles through my locks.
I used to miss your touch, now your hands feel like claws
I used to melt in your stare, now your eyes come with bristles
I used to miss your shag and plaits, now you wear a tail of a horse
I used to miss a natural shape, now your curves are created by a dose
I used to miss your call of my name, now you sound like Americanos and Angles
Tell me if I’m stuck in history, lagging behind as the *****Sapien evolves
Tiny dishes on my palette
filled with a rainbow of colors
that I meticulously mixed;
arranged like a row of flowers
that I’ll use to paint her portrait.
Cadmium yellow for her hair;
white and yellow ochre create
her flesh tone; perhaps if I dare
a dab of cadmium red.
Cadmium deep red for her lips;
perhaps a lighter shade instead.
Cerulean blue for her eyes;
and like a statue she will pose
while my paint laden bristles flow.
The sky was infused with an abnormal moon
It was so large showing off a great white light
The whiteness carries on causing one to swoon
Casting dark shadows off the trees in the night
There is a white candle in an upstairs room
That illuminates the bristles of a broom
Somewhere the occupant loves to fly on by
Leaves a blazing white trail within the night sky
Russell Sivey
Entrant into Anthony Slauson's "Whiteness" contest
10/4/2012
There are times when we wished to bid our pain goodbye,
Times we wished to mop dry our tears,
Times we wanted to overcome our fears,
Times we hoped to live our dreams,
More than once did we hope for fantastic times,
But alas!
Life gave the lemons and demons,
Bile from vile plants,
And beds riddled with nestles and bristles,
And food spewing with worms and flies,
But again,
At the end of the tunnel,
Is a shimmer of light,
That offers hope for a new sight.
Charcoal brush adorning sparkling bristles of love
weaves patterns on canvas of blank memory
flashing waves entrancing visions of kisses alight
blankets of amnesia in existence but he paints
hustling vintage platform emerging from mists
breeze in lover's red shirt chasing scarlet sunsets
he boards a crimson wagon longing for a goodbye
June 21, 2020
ON BROADWAY Poetry Contest
Sponsor: nette onclaud
Title: As If We Never Said Goodbye
~Winner: 4th Place
It may be affected by political acts.? Yet a
History of relevant fact, is what was done
Under the sun.' In recounting of its gristle
And bristles? Why are hackles raised.? Why
Are heckles made.? Why shout about odds.
If the numbers aren't stacked.'
Its what it is
Or is for some? That the rub.' If its not that
Malleble.? Then they show not love.'
Although in the halls of power, are virtues
Touted, in a ( broad aside ) they
are quite usually, and most wilfully flouted.'