Short Burlap Poems
Short Burlap Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Burlap by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Burlap by length and keyword.
Baby burlap
caught under the rock
don’t squirm and panic,
logic dictates
calm will resolve
your problematic situation.
The place where they stay is just a shack
Their clothes made from a burlap sack
Running water's here
But just to be clear
They run to the well and bring it back!
aged valise
in field of ferns,
burlap coat
to shield love’s pain-
vintage tote
reveals its past,
hoping to find youth again
September 5, 2017
burlap
coarse, cheap
bagging, gardening, covering
potatoes, cork boards / ballet shoes, pillows
wedding, sleeping, dancing
silky, colorful
satin
Written March 12, 2018
you push a pipie
you might pray
your words form
a formula
a rode house
a street
a madhouse
a madman dressed in burlap
a court hearing
a presences
a feeling
a song
a picture from Walmart
a wife
a husband
kingdom push
-Bunny Hole- by:SKAT
hidden muddy home
dirty paws, good boy' good boy!
yummy with carrots :)
----------------------------
-Unwanted Fluffiness- by:PD
Big Brown Burlap Bag
drop Bunnies down By the Bay
Better off -Blue grave
~SKAT & PD~
In burlap did he laugh,
the huskiness of mirth
to occupy the dearth
of sound. A photograph
beside the paragraph;
her testament of worth.
In satin does she weep,
cold buttons in her lap.
The invocations tap
an estuary deep.
Like flutterings in sleep
they flood the aching gap.
She penned his epitaph:
In Burlap Did He Laugh.
3/26/18
I got what I deserve.
A third-rate circumstance of my own making.
Over the decades, I've downgraded a few times.
Tossed the good ones aside and swallowed the rotten.
Now I dream in burlap and wear the jesters' boots.
It's too late; I've made my bed.
Too late to upgrade
I'm old
The pitch is too steep.
Karma has been more than fair to me.
Insomnia- the madman napping in the attic.
Alarm clock set for a second past the ogre's hour...
His greasy head resting on a burlap bag.
Filling with ferrets and rats-firecrackers for teeth.
The alarm goes off-he opens the bag.
Laughing while injecting with Red Bull and meth.
He lives to plant a sluice box into your mind.
Washing the last nugget from your tired life.
A barefoot boy on an old dirt road
Kicking dust up as he went
His lips all puckered, whistling a tune
He was happy and content
He carried a bucket by the bail
Had a cane pole on his back
And under his arm, all wrapped up tight
Was a burlap gunny sack
“Where are you going with all that stuff?”
I asked as he skipped on by
“I’m headed down to the Jack-Knife Creek
To catch Crawdads for a pie”
I was Burlap, you were Satin
your smooth against my rough,
you diamond, 'gainst my red hot coal
was never quite enough.
You tulip in the April sun
fair lady of the field
me cactus, thick skinned, dominant
how easily you yield.
You fought till you had little left,
you tore so easily,
Burlap, Satin, no warp or weft
were ever meant to be.
February 11th 2018
For contest 'Burlap and Satin', sponsor Anthony Slausen
Considered a debonair through and through
I got used to the most expensive hotels.
And I was catered to and pampered, that's true,
oft dinning on steaks and oysters on half shells.
But I fell in love with the country in you,
and before I knew it, I heard wedding bells;
moved to the homestead, and watched the pigs fatten,
a combination of burlap and satin.
(Rispetto)
Mar.16, 2018
Snapdragons Crackle
Snapdragons crackle
in the air for Maura
and her flowing gait,
a swagger neither Nora
nor Maureen would ever
let a suitor savor.
Maura knows
that in her wake
men with scythes
and burlap sacks,
creep like gators,
eyes afire, jaws agape.
Nora and Maureen
can smell these men.
Unlike Maura
and her flowing gait,
Nora and Maureen will smile,
take their time and wait.
Donal Mahoney
When the sky is raining tears,
and you reflect on all your years,
wasted lifetime hoarding fears,
a life or burlap, not cashmeres.
The ticking of the clock persists,
as time, they say, does not exist,
can time and timeless coexist?
can you hold them in your fist?
All your joints are getting stiffer,
life's not short, you beg to differ,
you wish the days and nights were swifter,
as you suppress a potent shiver.
©Danielle White
All nature sleeps in winter freeze.
Soil lies dormant, catching snowflakes;
drinks raindrops, waiting for the sun
to heat its body - sufficient
to nurture life’s awakening.
Like needles piercing burlap,
green shoots push upward thru soil;
strain toward light, leaning in the wind.
Dull hues change to rainbow bright.
A new cycle begins.
A version of this poem was
first published in IDEALS Magazine
Easter Edition, 2006
I find myself stumbling through his verse tonight.
Overall, he was a good man with a good heart.
Bright as an angel's wing at sunrise.
What puzzled me, was:
That if we disagreed on any sensitive topic.
His velvety demeanor would quickly turn to burlap.
He wholeheartedly believed in diversity.
Except when it came to diversity of opinion.
Even those with big hearts and brilliant minds.
Can reveal their black page on a Candleless night.
Hank was a blitz-drinking honest brute.
He wrote about the grime and grit of the streets.
Drunks, alley roaches, hookers on the beat.
Emily chose to live life in a little room.
A daydreaming spinster writing dainty verse.
Across those pages were the seeds of her hurt. *
Hank, the self-professed loner, sought out company.
Emily was really the burlap and he the delicate lace.
Poetry is a mountain made of many masks.
With the truth lying just underneath.
When I peep into past
And recall life's early morn
Present life stings and pains
Like sting of cactus thorn
For a while I get lost
In sweet memories of playful days
Little playmates and their funny ways
Tops and marbles and kites
Petty squabbles and fist-fights
Eyes wonderous,colored objects
Burlap bags and fragile slates
But like brilliant night of fullmoon
This flashback too recedes soon
And again the cycle of life
Same domestic chores same
Familiar wife
Loud, rowdy, coarse,
a bit rough around the edges,
more likely to say “Shut Up!”
than “Quiet Please.”
Jeans, well worn,
faded by harsh winds,
and searing sun.
face to match.
The “gods?”
diabolical match makers.
Soft spoken, silky smooth,
edges buffed,
hushed a room
on entering.
Tailored,
off the rack,
draped on artistic
magnificence,
smiling……that…
smile.
©3/21/2018
submitted too – Burlap and Satin – Poetry Contest
sponsor – Anthony Slausen
I’m awake by 6:00.
While stars shimmer
I jostle my husband
Who sleeps soundly
Upon dampened sheets.
Tom is burlap
While I am satin.
Wishing myself out
Of my cartoon pajamas
I struggle lifting his
Aged body from his bed.
My back aches
While I dress Tom
Thinking of those satin
Tahitian nights and
Playful lagoon floating
Over conch shells
With my handsome
Burlap man.
Slideshow memories
Of Satin and Burlap
Times stamped in my
Young 70-year old mind.
Shagged in the back of a shotgun shack
at night by moonlight
peeping past curtains of burlap sack
such a sore sight
surrounded by fields of green
willing as she'd been
tho' torn
she surely wasn't about to be seen
with a child out of wedlock born
so with a bun in the oven
she had her Dad invite he
who did the dirty deed
and plant the seed
the Father-to-be
down south way out on the steading
to shape up show up and in the end
attend a shotgun wedding
The Sahara's flaring moon
weaves sand castles in hombre dusk,
jacquard ridges unraveling down burlap slopes.
Under taupe sky a balmy loom
spins dust into tawny gold for a sultan sun,
eroding an oasis to sate his rapture
with effete wealth tatted in the shadows
cast by white peacock clouds
floating above seedless dunes
once shimmering with emerald palms
and sapphire waters.
Unseen hands of a sightless pearl
now craft his exfoliated sheikdom
from the dry scraps of Eden.
Wild rose in red or pink or white
You’re nothing like your sister.
While she requires a burlap coat,
You survive the winter
Her colors are more various.
Her buds are clearly neater,
And though her fragrance is quite nice,
Yours is so much sweeter.
Her stalks so tall and beautiful
Lend well to bold bouquet.
Your bush, a gross entanglement,
Instead says, “Stay away.”
You come unheeded every year,
No pampering for you.
To claim your favored wild spot
You grow and bloom anew.