Short Fated Poems
Short Fated Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Fated by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Fated by length and keyword.
panther
deadly beauty
embraces Reaper’s freedom
painful fated captivity
symbolic silence roars
Listen to poem:
what happened just now
is what I had dreamt about
it was déjà rêvé
my brain churned through memories
to predict perchance fated
Genetics,
our cruelest mistress
the herald’s phantom
In fated shadow
a birthmark staining
—our darkest pall
(Dreamsleep: March, 2022)
pebbles crunching, snap
red shirt, red and yellow koi,
florals and forest
ill-fated past bids goodbye
hello garden paradise
If Life strikes you not--
To cut you in that Fated way--
And you linger till not even an enemy be--
Know then the pain of loneliness
5/1/'16
I’d deem today as
my gloomiest day ever
I feel doomed but nay
ill-fated but otherwise
aye, having a bad hair day!
04/13/16
One born to greatness is oft ill-fated
His swift denouement unanticipated
All the advantages repudiated
~ by his own dagger eviscerated
consumed
and elated
mere children
now fated
temptation
and greed
of these
will lead
to eliminate
the worth
of those
now in the earth
Form:
Sun rise, high tide
Yesterday has died
Life in eclipse
Rising passion
Fated glimpse
In slow motion
August 29, 2022
Bite Size Poem no51 Poetry Contest
Fated, yet forbidden, but still forever true lovers
Always together beneath the warm Egyptian cotton covers.
On a daily basis laying in bed embracing each other.
An orphaned Victorian child
On the streets,running wild
Fated to share a workhouse cot
Asked for a second helping from the pot-
A life of crime becoming his lot.
Imposing eye-catching
Ice glacier rough diamonds
Inconsistent in shape
Intimidates in size
Immense and iconic
Ill-fated by melting
Impaler, ship sinker.
12.09.23
A love that is not sated
Lies in a poisoned bed
Where monsters just created
Writhe, unliving and undead
None knows on what they're fated
None knows on what they're fed
Form:
His affections past and present left such an impression.
After the first fated losses, I knew I needed him again.
I reached out to him so our renaissance can help me carry on.
Trump Should Suffice
Moron Trump he may have to suffice,
Who is now President and never nice;
Had contemplated,
Being ill fated,
And other woman wants to entice.
Jim Horn
Blind sight in reflected face lye crumpets.
Taste-falling feet,crimson shrooms.
''Is this real?''Vanished truth.
''Go Ask Alice Poetry Contest...''
sponsored by...Debbie Guzzi...
Oh, you charming, New Year,
What a great excuse you are
For
All my Ill-fated efforts of the
Year just past, to forget!
© Demetrios Trifiatis
24 JANUARY 2015
I have a burning desire for you,
So unlike the others I knew
A dream, a sensual fantasy,
Of the one I have yet to see
Are you to be my fated one,
A forever love-that perfect someone
The clock has struck.
It's way too late.
There are no thoughts left to pollinate.
The planet warms.
They've sealed their fate with
fires and storms, wars and hate.
It's way too late.
“The Tiger’s Revenge” is a wonderful book
Unlikely are many to give it a look
Its author as stated
Seems mighty ill fated
His name, Sir Claude Balls, has left many men shook
Trump Was Satiated Horn Limerick
With sins Trump was satiated
Things he did were ill-fated
Looked like an elegant loser
Really surely a lalapaluzer
Hillary supporters he agitated.
Jim Horn
Howling under moonlight
Clenched jowls and sharpened fangs
Swarm fated ill-fortune,
Effortlessly gliding
In perfected patterns
Adapting with each dash
Until red runs on green grass
March 18, 2022
Shattered glass, piercing heart.
The unborn clock advances to despair.
A hundred shards cast Romeo into view.
Disgusted and dispatched for heavy hearts encounter.
Her forsaken sentiments forever Present.
Form:
A man clad in mystery,
history would learn
His face on the mountain,
immortality earned
A man from tomorrow,
reliving today
Intrepidly fated
—truth on display
(Crazy Horse Monument: May, 2008)
(after Franz Marc)
Four of stained glass and stars
all leftglance beyond ratio or air,
thin as a tissue but strong
as a pastel visa; fated curves
guide your hand, voices drag
you into mud and steal the day.