Short Bucolic Poems
Short Bucolic Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Bucolic by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Bucolic by length and keyword.
along country roads
barns crushed by the fall sun ~
and weight of time
AP: 2nd place 2020
Posted on July 8, 2019
chickens pecking in the backyard
tenderize the already bucolic air
... the poet is already poetizing...
Stock-still statues
Bucolic totem-poles
Munching fly-swatters
Lazily grazing ...
Invisible to driverless cars
CHERUBIC QUINTESSENCE
bucolic beauty
of branches with ruddy leaves ~
Autumn’s chubby cheeks
9/24/2017
Some people are bucolic
Too sentimental to understand
You can't win the argument
Even when you are right,
Because tears come
Before logic comes to their lips.
golden paddies sway in sync as soft wind strokes their
cheeks ~ white herons squawk
Date: 08/15/2021
For A Brian Strand 1,2,3,4, or 5 Line Poetry Contest
Kid With Colic
Am a cute kid with case of the colic;
It made me so sad I became bucolic;
Testy have been,
Without a grin;
No wonder my wife was an alcoholic.
James Thesarious Hilarious Horn
Retired Veteran and Poet
The bucolic scene spread before her full white hair
That stupendous beauty whose silver did flair
Overlooking the planted fields, waiting for harvest
Youth, prodigious life in the past waiting to go the farthest
Harbingers...
Bucolic Sounds...
Efflorescence in Abundance...
Petrichors of late Summer,
Redolent of Propinquity to Creation,
Erstwhile Demesne of God.
An Ephemeral Dalliance,
Serendipitous Timing...
EPIPHANY !
Demure young maiden
A bucolic bungalow
A fallen hero
Situation hot
Gray thick diaphanous smog
Cannot cool it
Desultory dance
A quick surreptitious
Fine country wedding
Grandma’s tailsmen
The bride adorned with daisies
Murmurous rumors
A nonchalant groom
A sempiternal set up
Quintessential joy
In an island amidst the seamless seas,
Gaping at the bucolic beauty of rippling rivulets,
Listening to the gurgles of the whirling waterfall,
Soothed by the serenity of the still silvery streams,
Lulled to sleep by the rustle of pristine palms,
I lay beside you in a perfect paradise.
Such a grand memory I set aside,
Passing time in the French bucolic countryside
Passing lazy days away
Sipping sweet, sweet wine.
Lifting spirits, jousting melancholic ways
Experience expunging naivete
The Louvre, or the opera
Blessing a bravura shrine
Seeking serenity, here and now,
I long to stay, this place mine
Under the orange tree, the baby
in her woven basket boat, sailing
on the green-green grass.
Peeling the orange fruit, sibling
in a blue-teal dress. Juicy
orbs on the plentiful grass.
Toddler in christening dress, and
white cap. Bucolic blessings in
habitat. Repose, under orange oasis.
An old green tractor next to a red barn;
Horses, cows, and ducks fill up the pasture;
Surrounded by foliage at every turn
I inhale deep the sweet smell of nature;
A farm full of fruit trees for that I yearn,
they taste perfect like a caricature;
Roosters silhouette as the Sun's rising,
bucolic scenes right out of a painting.
Make hay!
Meant the macaw's epiphany
Coming in propinquity of the demesne
Pondering the erstwhile efflorescence of dalliance, she chirped
The bucolic redolent was everywhere, smelling petrichor in the air
This land is her home, she whistled with serenpidity
Harbinger of ephemeral life, she chattered:
While the sun shines,
Make hay!
Listen to poem:
love of the land
bucolic hills
the fields
for miles and miles
driving from
one village to the next
the seasons
catching up with us
through the valleys
of our life
vague the map
forgotten
when suddenly
the trip
becomes
more
meaningful
than the destination
AP: Honorable Mention 2020
Posted on August 2, 2020
Flowers flourish flavoring the field,
wild waifs that wave and whirl and whip
beneath the wind's wanton waltzing ways.
Bucolic bees buzz blooms and sip
sweet sage, sacramental savorings.
A halcyon habitat, a happy home,
for blessing birds and bees and blossoms,
majestic, magical May meadowland, my own.
Copyright, July 6, 2014
Faye Lanham Gibson
placid is a place i want to be,
a Grandma Moses painting
set in the bucolic scene of
a red barn crowned with a
rooster weather vane as
children carry water buckets
from a nearby wishing well
which is visited by a resident
red robin searching for tasty
earth worms surrounding the
wet ground as cows and horses
in the verdant meadow graze
peacefully together
Come with me to the
meadows and enjoy
the bucolic life
of the unruffled
landscapes, amidst the
low hills by the cosy pool,
where we will bask in
the summer sun.
We will have a summer
vacation date that will
leave indelible prints
in our transient memories,
after we must have
explored our different
worlds on the smooth
and lush quiet green
of sunny Spain.
A little romance never hurt anyone
an incomparable rose
strawberry red
delicious & juicy
A little romance never hurt anyone
a swirl of burgundy
reflections caught
in sassy kiss
A little romance never hurt anyone
hands like vines
intertwined
in gentle touch
A little romance never hurt anyone
bucolic breeze of lavender
divine scent of love
a head rush
4/7/2018
“Oh, give me a home where the buffalo roam …” —Dr Brewster M Higley VI
Oh, give me a home ...
where the big bison bellow,
bellowing in beautiful
bucolic backgrounds,
backgrounds begging
backpackers beware,
beware of being beset by
big bison bellowing!
Beset by a bison?
Bison basics best behavior—
Better to back up bovine-like
than be busted up by a bison
Better believe it!
I am on my way somewhere
Where it is I do not know
I have to get away
I will walk where there’s a glow
Down a path far from danger
No river of no return
To the raw bucolic fields
Where the deer and rabbits go
And the horses nibble weeds
A land devoid of weapons
Devoid of bad intentions
Living without any fear
In a very quiet place
Where gun shots are never heard
That’s where I would like to glow
Hostel
In the remote
Demesne was the hidden
Erstwhile encounter place for two
Odd tourists that meet in the bucolic
Efflorescence of a furtive
Dalliance with signs of
Death redolent
Behind
A text
Message was the
Harbinger of the sad
Epiphany that announces a
The propinquity of a tragedy
The despised man hanged up taking
Serendipity of
Ephimeral
Idyll
Example For A Day In A Lost Town
3-13-2016
music
reminds my soul
of peony and rose
efflorescence petrichor scents.
Roaming among fountains of her blossoms,
lost in bucolic elegance.
Whispering sweet sighs
like verses for
music
ash smoke
brought drops of doom.
Was it a mere mirage
or a brief dance with dalliance,
but this ephemeral epiphany,
just like nature's seasonal moods,
left lyrics on my lips,
until storms blew
ash smoke
A dollup
A trollup
A mole and a troll
Free spring it and wing it
…reach for the loftiest goals
A habit-ish hobbit
with a knob and grommet
is wearing a rakish sneer
All grasping and gobble
foam and fobble
Listen!
and you can hear
A rabbit…"Gosh nabbitt!"
A frog and a log
…all frolic, bucolic in the wondrous bog
All foggy and noggy
And wet noodle woggy
…The Farmaduke start to caw