Short Conflate Poems
Short Conflate Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Conflate by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Conflate by length and keyword.
Never conflate
money and love
The one hates the other
when push comes to shove
Never confuse
false pander for care
The almighty dollar
— unable to share
(The New Room: September, 2026)
Almond promises
round oval drops
dripping song to fall
in neon light
His stares of hope
conflate when she comes
your everyday Cleopatra
cascades lofty
Acorn kisses
hanker sweet footsteps to be
on time
mystique on the commonest day
burrowed deep in the recesses
The writer always
wants to sing
And the singer
wants to paint
The painter fancies
he could dance
To the dancer
songs conflate
The greenest grass
it seldom grows
Where you now
make your bed
As wishes stray
and hopes betray
What might have been
—instead
(Dreamsleep: June, 2023)
In a subconscious state of mind
both real and unreal intertwine
and twist each others attributes
into dark Eidolon recruits.
These phantoms perform roles assigned
So well they trick the sleeping mind;
The scripts emerge from deep within
The brain where images begin
To shape and sound then orchestrate
Successive scenes the two conflate
Into involuntary schemes
The conscious human calls his dreams.
Listen to poem:
Written: November 13, 2023
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The exhausted soul's speech is faint.
In response to the voice of dream.
When faith lends its way to conflate
The exhausted soul's speech is faint.
Where the bloom faded with berate
lack of mind and frame as soul screams
The exhausted soul's speech is faint.
In response to the voice of dream.
While volcanoes rehearse to show their teeth
lovers shouting from the well of the house
wave broken condoms rather than broken trust
conflate dissent on self-erasing slates
and prove worse than the old oxen
long following circuitous ways
billowing opposition, discalced defenders
they all assert superior dishonesty
sell cheap what is most dear or make
offences of new affections
I carry the tomb of unburied days
--R K Singh
A mob of crows conflate a raucous debates
with sweet songs.
They gather
on the broken branches of Autumn,
they fill the leafless spaces
that now are only naked windows
for a colorless sky.
An ad hoc hectoring
of dark and light notes shakes a cold wind -
a song sheet for the fallen and failing.
If you watch and listen
to that black-winged rabble
all will turn into the glossy iridescence
of ethereal harp music
played solo upon the few twigs left
within these stark woods.