Short Cobwebbed Poems
Short Cobwebbed Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Cobwebbed by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Cobwebbed by length and keyword.
Zygote ideas crowd cobwebbed thoughts.
Foetal creations evolving...
Yearning for life.
Crammed in empty wombs
Contracted by phantom possibilities
Gatekeepers to life
Aborted hopes and dreams
Fear laced life blood...
trickles away with the sands of time...
Again.
And I love you so,
caught in a silver bow
in my cobwebbed mind
Searching for a way out,
spider webs of doubt
tie me painfully but kind…
Moonlight blazes
in your cold lovely gazes,
eyeing me with arachnid intent
Silence shatters
as a mild wind scatters
the shells of my body into the night
And I love you still,
not allowing to spill
my soul as we've joined into me
Civil war :
Again you are visiting
the childhood.A green pond.
Smoke filled eyes ask, what
was a home ?
A black city of white hills.
You were climbing on dreams
to reach a baby moon.
And the night
was very long, like a bad name
you cannot spell.
The anthills, fireflies and
snakes. You are still lost
in cobwebbed age.
Pawned :
After books there were no other
tales.
Satish Verma
He was miserly
with his misery
held it tight
wouldn’t set it free
clutched it screaming
in late night dreaming
gussied it up
with AM preening.
Never cheap
with his misery
he defied the rules
being miserly
spread his gloom
with a cobwebbed broom
swept misery’s web
all around the room.
Oh, the misery
of the miserly
why must they share
their gift with me.
©12/30/2018
Edward Ibeh - sponsor
Creative musing enthralls her psyche,
minute thoughts dance before her eyes,
waiting to be written before they
go astray within the confines of the mind
where cobwebbed effigies shadow her
enlightenment.
Gestation occurs, words labor to be born,
one minute adhering to the womb of her intellect,
the next forcing their way through her artistic
birth canal shouting to be heard
and shared by others who utter joy at the
rebirth.
Form:
I search for light
amidst the darkness
feeling my way
aimlessly along
as I call out
my pleas
echoing off
the walls
going unanswered
Stumbling
bumbling blindly
into
cobwebbed corners
choking on the dust
from the corpses of
dead dreams
Desperate to discern
a mere flicker
a flash
a friendly voice
the grip of a
guiding hand
in this empty
cold and clammy room
devoid of windows
or doors
where I wither away
My prison
My tomb
What does it take
To De-ice a heart
In a passionate man
In need of a new start
Cobwebbed and lost
In declining beat
Not only bleeds
But occasionally weeps
Then out of the blue
A maiden so fair
Literal goddess
With care and flair
Her warmth with words
Has restarted my heart
Ignited my wants
And poetic parts
One day
I will make a new start
To meet this fair maiden
To touch her heart
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/love4.php
Casualty of Loss
Drifting in murky waters
shadows lengthening
with sorrow’s darkness blight.
Cobwebbed remembrances
take flight, taking with it
prism’s life-light
Shades of gloom
mist yonder shores
obscuring vision, while
leeching into the life source
stagnating the living waters.
Cruel fate laps brutally
against the sands of time
while memories smother
and are swept away
on death borne
callus waves
Lifeboat sinking
with life’s bleedings
along shadowed shores.
I wander through its corridors
And up its winding stairs
I enter cobwebbed rooms
And find the yesteryears
I wander through its seasons
And find my autumn there
The leaves are falling slowly
Yet there is no time to spare
I wander through its canyon
And find a river running deep
There is no time to linger
The subconscious never sleeps
I wander through its pathways
A never ending maze
Ideas seem to spring forth
Imagination has its ways!
1-3-2022
Seven days
and seven nights
I searched my cobwebbed soul.
How dark those old forgotten paths
where once I tread my will.
Seven days
and seven nights
How sad I was back then.
Forsaking You and walking proud
soling the weak of man.
Seven days
and seven nights
My sins so countless then.
Yet unashamed I stood and blamed
and cursed at heaven’s gate.
Seven suns
and seven moons
That was my journey, then.
A passage to this wondrous land
where light now shines within.
Little as a mountain can be,
near waters calm and an idling breeze.
Inland wheatfields sun on ears,
expanding 45 gallon cans suppressed echoes hear.
Semi's engine drone all day to the railhead clear,
sweat running on flesh like honeyed tears.
Sweet and fetid the elder scent
canvas hats the horizon swimming and bent
mealy lung invading dryness thick,
creaking timberd floor and a rustling''quick''
then quietude..as a sunbeam falls,
on wheat shed door and cobwebbed wall.
Some stunt that happened.
Combining brain power and blanket creases.
Or plopping down with my eyes.
Or adjusting and clearing my throat the whole time.
Time, rushed, guidance.
Two weeks and nuance.
Heightened normalcy.
Some stunt that happened with nuance and scribbles.
I still have some of that pencil lead screeching, hopefulness…
They don’t burst- they’re just not that glamorous after all.
So nothing happened.
I’m a dry, cobwebbed throat.
With eyes that never happened.