Short Candled Poems
Short Candled Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Candled by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Candled by length and keyword.
Sits the monkish owl.
Beneath its own cowl.
If not candled and windowed, lit as
Soft, meditative.
That, wakeful, before
Sinks, wearily, more.
Grass-burnt, sunned life. Flashed too lewd, pranced through.
Dawned; hell-reactive.
PENETRATING EYE~LIDS SHUT APON DREAMING,
SILENTLY AMORE, I LAY, SHIVERING NUTORIOUSLY,
FOR THAT ONE MOMENT, HE LOOKS, AT ME WITH WARM
FIRE IN HIS CANDLED EYES, WHERE A BURNING LOVES DESIRE,
BECOMES CAPTIVATED,IN THE MOON~LIGHTS STARS BED ROOM,
I HAVE RELEASED MY INNER BODY, TO PASSIONATELY GIVE HIM,
MY ALL,WITH NO HESSITATION....
THE ALABASTER BALL
Earth sent invitations
To a danse one night
Requesting all invited
Please – to come in white.
The glass-coached clouds assembled
And the Ebon Sky
Banked its brightest fire,
Snuffed each candled eye.
Then the Winds belled music
Set a whirling pace
And down the Heavens
Waltzed the Snows,
In their finest lace.
Selling uranium to Putin through CFIUS
Made less social sense than contracting syphilis
Unless to grow a Global reset chrysalis
Aiding American transformation abyss.
Putin may well employ Wyoming yellow cake
To cower Europeans with nuclear bake
Candled with cancerous cumulus mushroom clouds,
Granting his covering Ukraine with a death shroud.
Listen to poem:
As Memory Serves
A mere bump in time...
as bottled cork pops,
engaged second hand...
conveyed decibels,
dons melting,
against that instant,
"It's a boy!", resonates.
Reflecting after those many years,
I smiled while he blows...
his 44th candled flame,
~~best is poured.
gifted memories
timelessly bottled uncorks
~~aged wine stirs in ice
2020 June 30
and I forgot reading love in the diagrams
like constructing great space ships
we fear it’ll never finish
and so
lancing us into the stars
though how rich life is
in every petal
even over the screen of imagination’s furnace
burning in roman-candled air-raids
forcing the power of our own love in front of us
as the only real and almighty staggering truth
as sought in tip-toes
for poetry is tip-toes
Gentle Egg
She candled an egg in her soft hands
protecting the fragile,
inspecting with light;
Cusping
Like either horn
Of a crescent moon
When floated aloft on two
dexterous
fingers.
Was she not peering into the future?
Making a determination perhaps
Even listening,
Searching for signs
of life?
or something more mundane ---
Broken vessels
Spots of blood
promising rot ...
Yolkers
like me...