Short Cusp Poems
Short Cusp Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Cusp by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Cusp by length and keyword.
The prelude to a wish,
all time conspired
Eternity on call
—the night on fire
(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2019)
Listen to poem:
on the cusp
poised precarious, point perched,
lies threshold brink verge,
the tipping-point pivot to,
rise/fall from grace.
He teetered on the cusp of change,
Wanting to make each moment last ~
This flying of time seemed so strange,
He teetered on the cusp of change ~
What would he not do to exchange
his life for harmless childhood past!
He teetered on the cusp of change,
Wanting to make each moment last.
Last night ached with the fear of fall.
I stubbed a toe against the dark.
And then came morning, sparking
ponderosa’s candles one after another;
igniting every living bird with the spirit
of song as we tip the seasons,
the sun tilting to touch each stunned tree
with the amber of its sap, so it stands
for the moment transparent.
Time came as the fourth dimension
It wiped away all allusion
Transition from special to general relativity
increased the universe's accessibility
Time travel once a hyperbole
is now possible through wormhole
The geometry of space-time
made gravity an age old mime
For high precision came the strontium clock
which made cesium an uninhabited block
Listen to poem:
There's a faint light beaming up through the cracks
in everything that has the answers.
I stand on the edge peering in,
facing up to the risk of failing, falling in,
on the cusp of not looking away.
No thunder rolls, no curtain calls,
for the silence between
breaths, blinks, and heartbeats
holds the final bluff and dare,
as toes reach over the edge
and shadows stall in their recall,
of what might otherwise have been,
on the cusp of facing up.
Before nodding off in bed and on the cusp
of wide awake and fast asleep
when I can't keep my eyes open
while drifting down into darkness deep
the oddest thoughts cross my mind
without so much as a single warning
but even stranger still of it's own free will
it recalls them all come the morning
where they originate I can't say
as fleeting flybys quite romancy
they're not dreams or so it seems
but nightly random flights of fancy