Short Compasses Poems
Short Compasses Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Compasses by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Compasses by length and keyword.
In the heart of my mind
Rages a war of navigation
Each passing sun.
All compasses broken,
It has become a maze
And I am a stranger to me.
My anthem is woe.
Water and fire
Have become my bread.
freezing dis-stall night
a creepy lantern budding
because of the stone
~
depressing nighttime
a huge, awesome tree bouncing
watching the lantern
~
because of the stone
darkness compasses night air
ignite the lanterns
4/2/19
Darkness Black Universe -a Katauta Poem
black darkness, lit-up
the universe flashes blue
solar compasses sunshine
6/13/19
written by James Edward Lee Sr
****Katauta is an unrhymed three-line poem of five, seven and seven syllables.
A dank cavern
Unlit torches on the walls
Some light easier than others
You bring a compass
Drawing you through the inky darkness
You sense little with just yourself
Armed with recognition
of the ground
of yourself
Most compasses grow obsolete
As you find more than they can point you to
Visitors on a planet
Near the outskirts of uncounted stars,
We experience time in expanding space.
We grow and develop,
and in wisdom
Come to know the questions of eternity.
Deep within us all
Near the core of unexplored life,
We experience love, the Spirit of God.
We are all united,
and in faith
Return to know the peace of our Source.
wherever you go
millons of mile away from home
do not say yes when you mean to say no
friends may fly away
and foes may come your way
do not say yes when you mean no to say
dirts may dent your eyes
and grey turns the blessed skies
do not delight in telling lies
hope may frown at you
and fear compasses you
do not paint a lie to be true.
five torpedo bombers
known as Flight 19
disappeared in December of 1945
over the Bermuda Triangle
an ominous mystical zone
recorded precarious by Christopher Columbus
when his compasses began acting erratically
Flight 19 is just one of many ships and planes lost
forever in the bowels of the Devil’s playground
the treacherous, notorious, mysterious Bermuda Triangle
SECRETS AND REGRETS
years pounding by
running down the
past
like stars steering
courses
passing derelict
shores
drifting until
compasses lock on
secrets and regrets
in the grip of our
dusk
where eternity
flames
wings are clipped with
grace
toiling waves calmly
trust
benevolently
shading out our
secrets and regrets
© Kim van Breda—12 August 2015
Will humanity ever get it right and learn from the repeated wrongs?
Or have our moral compasses been lost forever and too far gone?
Has empathy, compassion and integrity been replaced?
With violence, division and discord infused with hate?
We must humble ourselves pray, and seek guidance from above..
Only as one nation under God, will we find that unity and love...
In 1745, the apothecary
Time stands still, peering at the past
The chemists lived making potions
Between dust and rats
Gadgets like compasses hung
Amidst glass vials and bronze knobs
Keys to hidden compartments
Silver ladles and candelabras
Joseph Black isolates CO2
An odd phenomena of “fixed air.”
The healers of the early ages
The fearful labelled witches
And, often then burned
Next Chapter-Dream Catcher
Disaster-Fear Factor
Here After-Mere Laughter
Wave Crasher-Weird Chatter
Base Smasher-Aye batter........
Aye batter batter Aye!!!!
Wondering Whether or not We're gonna
Do something Today????!!!!!.....
Weird Bastards-Geared Backwards
Disfigured statures and Bone fractures
Squares, compasses and Protractors.
Go Ask Your Throne Masters.......
The Vote Caster Throat Graspers
Well versed are traversed
.....the fully immersed,
versatile thru the turnstiles
left behind are footprints
that go on for miles....
Magnetic is the wheel
that you constantly feel
circadian is the rhythm
....souls migratory zeal,
compasses direction
.......in chaotic spin,
intoxication is the motion
unknowing whereupon to begin....
The flow of the energy,
eventually pulls....
unified synergy,
lifting heads above in lull......
There are trolls
under the bridge
that connects my solitude
with the world of mirrors and veneers
of office hobnobs
and dinners after eight,
where the deathless ogres follow me
to perch, invisible, beside my chair
and rock and leer and cackle
at my efforts there
So, I retreat
across the long and tenuous passage
into the labyrinth of my genius
where both men and demons flounder
because no signboards are displayed
and compasses despair.