Short Flagged Poems
Short Flagged Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Flagged by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Flagged by length and keyword.
Surrounded by clowns
In a circus she's running
Wearing no make-up
You become the misplaced one
Flagged as a mere bystander
Fall brings football season.
Friends, family gather,
for friendly rivalry.
Food and drink are a must!
Field goals and touchdowns scored;
fouls flagged by referees.
Faithful fans come alive!
8/28/15
Cross legged,
in his bowed legs,
with determination,
in between them,
he had flagged,
and jagged,
no more efforts,
or trials,
it was just a phone call,
the single phone dial,
that he made to God,
and said ,Lord I am tired,
and it is long that I retired.
Word juice in
whispered summaries
by the senses...
sound painting
printed on
souls...
syncopations of
sonorities
smoothly
flagged...
visual exposure
of the conciliation of
all signs...
Concentration
of virtues in
grandiloquence...
with
hegemonic
of sensitivities...
Silence is everything...!
SILENCE
Juice words in
whispered overviews
by the senses ...
Sound Painting
printed on
souls ...
Synopsis of
sonorities
gently
flagged ...
Visual exposure
of the conciliation of
all signs ...
Concentration
of virtues in
grandiloquence...
Wit
hegemonic
of sensitivities ...
Silence is everything ...!
You were trained to be independent.
To avoid strangers if you can.
But you had a flat tire, so you flagged down a man.
He pulls up in a rusted-out truck.
His hands are strong and filthy with dried mud.
He says fewer words than a haiku poem.
Like an Indy pit crew, he's done in no time...flat.
You broke rules-rolled the dice and survived.
The tire is on; your hands remain clear of the grime.
Winter reminds me of wet coats
in the hall and the smoky kitchen heat,
of large logs sizzling,
exerting their wetness on the hearth stone;
cut fresh from the garden,
they fill the flagged floor with warmth.
Each morning pale yellow ashes lie
like floury dust around the fireplace,
a brighter yellow appears in the garden,
across the street,
when the rain beats upon the ash heap.
From Perfume of the Soil. Swan Press, 1999.
He flagged me down
for a lift.
Those were the days when it felt safe
to pick up a hitch hiker.
Soon my eyes were watering
from the stench of urine.
“Where are you trying to get to?”
“Where are you going?”
I was on my way to see the Bishop
sponsoring me for ordination.
Should I take him there?
I pondered.
I dropped him near the city centre.
As with a message from an angel,
“Where are you going?”
has stayed with me
as a disciple of Jesus.
Son of a soldier lost his friendship ties
From thousands of miles for crunchy fries
Gun toys replaced the ones that he had lost
Talking twister of blended foreign frost
In the arms of almighty God
His dad combated the last blood
Son of a soldier connoted a coyote
Colloquated heroes poetic lyrics note
White flagged exorbitant West wild
Son of a soldier thought he was a child
Born by origin and modern nomadic loffe
Son of a soldier sailed the word of Santa Fe
Saltcoats born,Saltcoats bred
His darts left many a defender for dead
Had he not been flagged so often for offside
His haul of goals would have sky-highed
His quick reflexes the eye deceived
Leaving linesmen blind to his onside speed
This was a Lisbon Lion with a cheetah's pace
Forcing defenders to foul rather than chase
Faster by far than any other
He caused defences all sorts of bother
Let us recall with affection wee Bobby Lennox
To opposing teams always a marauding menace.