Short Flaking Poems
Short Flaking Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Flaking by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Flaking by length and keyword.
We used to travel to the beach,
Fish and chip shops in our reach,
Fish so fresh and flaking,
Fanta orange our thirst slaking,
In newspaper, chips were wrapped,
Bayside trips, us kids were rapt!
Golden Outbursts
Honeyed
Pathways shimmer
Matted Maple forests'
Flaking golden outbursts entice
Strolling
FIRST
October22, 2015
Contest: Autumn Stroll Cinquain Form
Sponsor: Eve Roper
Weak audible creaks from a faded pub sign
Preludes a visual crash, combed by critical eyes
Though the structure was sound
The worn brackets were faint
Flaking words curled and dropped
With the tired peeling paint.
its wood frame is flaking
the face reflected in the glass
is time-lagged
recognizable only
when molded
to a memory
tomorrow
i will strip the frame down
varnish it
polish the mirror
then sell it on
as a good riddance
Do you have an idea ..
How on the beat of your voice,
The morning become tender
And extend over and over Here ..?!
And how the horizon extend,
And the spikes bend ..
On the beat of your voice..
And the rain..
Flaking , shy, sedate, jaunty ..?!
I gotta get mine.
You gotta get yours
Mc Breed said it
Take heed to it
You can’t take
Nothing from me
I’m making history
I’m getting mine.
I’m doing fine.
I’m almost to
My last line
With haters
I don’t waste time
I’ve got open doors.
Stop hating, flaking,
And faking.
Get yours.
wrote 3-4-10
flaking paint
on peeling buildings
throws
clock fingers
through the last plumes of yesterday
Argus stained waiters
Gargoyles chewing on cigars
Smile till swede
Worshiping the harlequins
Sailors with denim eyes
velvet dolls with braided smiles
worshiping the dreams of night
and the Serpentine dulls grey, disowned
A Doll,
Broken, fragile, porceline
Cracked and flaking
A Jack in the Box,
Arms detached, missing eye
Still jumping to its song.
Peices of me falling to the floor.
A fragile toy sitting on its shelf.
Eyes viewing flying by, no beauty in whats broken.
Toy collector, Toy collection.
Thank you for seeing my worth.
Form:
The winter has been
bleak and the grey
clouds shed rain-tears,
like a child missing their
favourite toy; sounds of
birds, those feathery
seed and fly eaters, are
outside the door, their
chirps and arias ( like
shadows from their
wings) brush the
crumbling wall-plaster,
flaking it onto the crooked
furniture in my house
some kind of drags
of coals boiling
on point here
into so darkness
but you've seen me smile
and did you ever knew?
of a stranger's chest,
empty without a heart,
how whimsical
of battle wings flailed
though the separation
tore them so mistaken,
flaking are the eggs
are the reasons here
and the scent is so odd
seasons so warm & cold
I saw a leaf today
in the up-draft --
one last dance
and lift before
the Fall Finale;
crisping and fading,
flaking...but only an
illusion of death, for we
know the chemistry, and
the majesty of seasons --
thinking of our shared
love, the years of affection
ever greater...would be
an unforgivable pity
if heaven
were the only
contrary….
Ancient graying wood of
Canted posts
Swaying yellow grasses
Dance across
Rusty flaking barbed wire
Containing no more
Than a fading image
Of flicking horse tails
And stomping hooves
Still dutifully clasped
Connecting the rotting rails
A single coil of braided metal
Holds fast to the
Gate
Which now swings only shadows
Across a dying field
Forgotten
White clouds rose shining coughs in morning lamps phlegm squeezes thoughts weary
coffee mugs stain teeth flaking bones throb sermons pounding on ghosts open doors
hallways fill whispered names kiss lips lost letters smear ink rain beats windows thunder
awoke after midnight lightning struck sleep drifting in and out of eyes sunken beds groan
and moan dreams toss and turn till dawn
A hermit without a shell is a
weak, pitiful creature.
It wonders alone for onlookers to
moisturise their naked skin with
empty tears.
They feel no shame when mocked
for their fetishized strife;
flagrantly flailing their flaking skin
to justify their tantrums.
The terror and turmoil that it sheds
plagues even those passingly amused.
Until we are all naked, afraid and alone.
Wars, why do we thrist it?
Bullets, skeleton hearts, and dirt's
decaying mouth hush your slave
sleeps chains around zero.
Lover is dead the cupid shot
her in the head.
One foot on the earth
another spirit leaves.
Unknown judgement.
False religion.
Masks torn from the
hummingbird's wing
reflecting flight.
A flight of guns’ flaking nozzles,
of spring aching with
winter and summer's
disease.
Hundreds of snowdrops
Flowering under old trees
Cold horses awaiting
Their food to be brought
Paint-flaking windows
Reflecting thin sunlight
Large piles of wood chopped
To warm up the freeze
Cows at the farm-gate
With milk-swollen udders
Birdsong awakening
An old hive of bees
Arthritic limbs crackle
The old cat’s awake now
One eye open
A paw stretched
Assessing the scene
Form:
i feel like i'm dying & never end up dead.
someday, i will write to you in the colors of myself;
the flaking rust of dried blood,
the purple of deep bruises & passion,
one from the other.
& somewhere near the center,
the shocking blue of the brightest flame
& the truest green,
to prove that even pain is a part of growth.
i'll paint you the world through my eyes
& from the tip of my pen.
In your silence I see colours,
speech crumbling like flaking paint, dried; truth dripping from lips, black spittle on a brush.
In the silence I inhale the scent of a feeling,
what you think of me curdles from willows to weeds; from ivy once intoxicated to rotten root.
In this silence I taste our time together,
a history in meat chopped / diced, fried in oil burning; our future an incomplete recipe, lost.
Walls were covered in cobwebs that chattered.
Splash is flaking from the crumbling floodgate.
It was flawed to wait while you were battered.
Walls were covered in cobwebs that chattered.
A long time of hush leads in aged flattered.
And some items that may freshly relate.
Walls were covered in cobwebs that chattered.
Splash is flaking from the crumbling floodgate.
Written: February 20, 2023
The fox gnaws flaking muscle
From speechless rabbit, cold
In mind and body. Men shiver
As bodies dry, spat from river.
Rings of globes circle hands
Of the thoughtless, so beaten
From paths to be told of Him,
Waiting until eyes grow dim.
Walking among us is plague,
Standing above us is but love,
These winds will claw our youth
While faith entraps this truth.
Winter comes but we survive,
Breath and bones, colonies thrive.
The first Flower
The first winter after a long war was cold
but today the snow was slushy the beginning of spring
It was a poor street house had not been
painted for years, not much food and the ice was
reluctant to let go of its pale grip.
It was then I saw it along a wall of flaking cement
a small solitary, yellow flower the colour so bright
it blinded me it was like I had a moment of clarity
I understood and saw it all.
They are old, flaking,
Peeling from the root up, inheriting
Two Souls:
That of some faceless creature before me,
Faceless but soulful and charitable and
Dead
Probably, but I'll never know.
And mine. Shaping and misshaping
Their worn out insides,
Letting them know they're mine now,
These twisted string ties are mine now,
These thick rubber roots are mine now,
This red.
O this glowing patent red
Was always mine,
I just didn't know yet.
Hedonistic Gilbert;
Most of my days are spent scraping stains off pants and shirts.
Hot sauce crust, Mustard crust, human crust.
Flaking off and falling to the ground.
They collect in specs and piles.
Microscopic mounds of yesterday’s hot dog
And last weeks company.
The chili stain on my pants leg reminds me of home.
The stain the Rum left reminds me of the party
and that curly haired girl.
Some people say I’m dirty
I’m just nostalgic.
Living
is to crystallize into candid shards,
fragile as the tremble of a glass too full;
is to pierce oneself like the sun
sews ray to ray across its mighty core;
is the center to which the ocean
folds in on itself,
glittering a gown of sand
into kaleidoscopic swirls
of glass and salty mists,
flaking lips.
Existence eagerly dips its pale toes in,
sea water slipping through slackened eyes.
It seeps back whence it derived:
a cage of bones.
Night's descent with heaven's catharsis
Of white cold's drug for the dark;
Even whirls of flaking bits loveliness—
Winter's fresh, ice only shower.
Of white cold's drug for the dark—
Just right for the meek moon's glow,
Winter's fresh, ice only shower
On sleeping hyacinths underground.
Just right for the meek moon's glow,
Even whirls of flaking bits loveliness
On sleeping hyacinths underground—
Night's descent with heaven's catharsis.