Short Discolored Poems
Short Discolored Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Discolored by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Discolored by length and keyword.
The discolored leaf
safeguards a raindrop left by
the inclement storm
Entered in Raul Moreno's contest,
" Mourning Calm "
old faded polaroid~
the memory of yesteryear
distant and discolored
snapshot of a past
vague but not forgotten
AP: Honorable Mention 2020
shadowed abstract on canvas
painting of disfigured hearts
discolored by broken vows
love's tainted portrait
<<<<->>>>
April 19, 2017
Tainted are the picture shows,
From out the eyes of Freaks I know.
Time trips on discolored days turned askew.
Speculation is a game.
For all the Freaks (are) in me.
Colors of outstanding hues---
Standing on the hill awaiting for the judgments;
Standing ever still surrounded by pungent;
Smells of heated discolored views;
Colors of outstanding hues;
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2018 ©
11/07/18
yes p.d.
ups n downs and ins n outs, of personality,
love n hate and inward shouts,
of fires that burn with no one about,
though love be pure insanity,
discolored be the vanity,
shut up johnson its your shout:)
don't tango with humanity...
Don
If you could only choose one color what would it be ?
If I could only see one color
That would be such a bummer
I wouldn’t be able to see all the pretty colors of summer
Life would be so much duller without color
All the multi colors of summer
Life would just be discolored
Without color
Two glasses filled with a bubbling flirt
A fragrance of blue and white grapes
Turning out in a sweet scence of pink
Without crushed grapes
Otherwise the most will be discolored
But equally squeezed into winery
Not minding what other people will think
In order to be held together
By a cork and muselet
Form:
drowning
in fountains of learned ink
and lit keys
Lost and flailing...
Did it ever matter?
nobody would even notice
if sunlight goes black,
hidden behind sleeping will.ows
muffled by snores
and striped-barked trees
stifled pattern
viewed through stubborn lashes,
through discolored eyes
Soon,, the air
572017126a 126a156
Water splashes
As it moves at night
The color lost
It takes on darkness
A discolored form
The salty nature
Of the dark seawater
Tastes horrid
The strong feel
That is lifted into place
The pursed lips
The silky sight of water
In the stark night air
It flows so smooth
Through the waves tonight
Pouring on itself
Russell Sivey
I will wear white pants all year long
with shoes scuffed from a sandy night;
Discolored waves that won't come out
those seaside moments haunt my eyes;
Capture the season keep it strong
hold those scandalous fashions tight;
Laid back vibe lingers all about,
when you're free it seems time flies;
Land of a thousand summers song,
one note I'm back in paradise.
Listen to poem:
tall and proud
daylilies
wrinkled
discolored
disheveled
past their prime
deprived of warmth and sunrays
survived cruel dips in weather
braving long cold nights
rebellious to fall’s arrival
flaunting boldest efforts
stubborn to impress
express last splash of splendor
hanging so desperately
to the vestige of their youth
AP: Honorable Mention 2021
When I was very young a little boy of five,
I had a pair of sneakers that made me feel alive.
They were black with white soles,
discolored and had several holes.
They took me wherever I wanted to go,
in outer space, a pirate ship or a mountain covered in snow.
I did not have much in those day but I would not know,
because my magic sneakers always had me on the go.
JSergi
I have calluses on the inside of my body.
I am smooth and polished on the outside.
But once you peel away my cocoon, you will find cuts and bruises.
My intestines are knotted, tied in one big bow.
My bones are cracked and discolored.
my muscles are tangled and weak.
My brain has pins in it, i am someone's voodoo doll.
But no one will ever know, i hide it so flawlessly.
Your reflection is on the side of my heart...
I only see it when I'm alone and in the dark...
At times I can't breathe and I stretch for some air...
Gasping and swallowing fear and endless despair...
Through a past of drowning outside of discolored reality...
To falling into the cracks of hope and sense ability....
That reflection still stands the test of time...
For there is always a piece of you in mine...
leaves in September
sensing winter and limbo
shiver and whisper.
the falling leaves drift
of red, gold and brown colors
kissed lips of summer.
discolored of age
grumbling, sighing, and broken
ready for descent.
laying a carpet
rich and rare, soft and stocky
worms ready to slip.
+++
The word chosen "Leaf"
===
August 6, 2014
Form Haiku
Sixth Place win
Contest: Leaf by Andrea
What we're made of?
Perhaps the
invisible obvious,
Of human
misunderstandings,
Silent and hostile
stares.
We are made of
Silence,
Silk paper and
Aniline.
The colors of mine
Country.
We are made of
Fondant,
Flavors of the
Earth, and brow
Sugar.
Fleeting desires of
Cotton candy.
Illusion, hope, and
Cardboards,
This is discolored
Full.
We are made of the
Breeze, and dream,
Of pure nothing.
We go away at night.
Insane Quinzaine
There is no truth, only doubt.
Is there nothing left
but the lie?
There are no lies, only fear.
Whose words never crossed
truth’s grey divide?
The black and white of truth, lies.
Are the nuances
of lies, truth?
Lies are the truth discolored.
Would a cooling shade
be truth-less?
Truth lies hidden in the doubt.
Are we complicit
in this ruse?
John G. Lawless
3/29/2014
for Dr. Ram Metha
Quinzaine contest
So, you thought you have the right
To in my bed pass a night,
Not alone, with your lover,
Vulgar love-making brave,
Sensual pleasures coarsely crave…
You have my mattress defiled,
All night romances of the wild;
For hours with a pervert
Who claims she is a convert.
Now, a discolored white sheet
I’ll gladly burn in the street
To Junk Press give a story
And have you shamed Miss Glory!
Bed used without permissions
A sin not for remission.
They were the leftovers
the refuse at the cannery
the wanton waste of discolored greens;
today's menu _
stringy long tantalizing pods
crispy snappings along the opposing seams
limp wilted cultivars rejected
fallen and discarded to the bins;
at shifts end
hours passed daylight
stretching beyond supper time
my grandmother
entered in the kitchen
and in the pockets of her apron fell
the remnants of vegetable extravaganza
the makings for bean soup.