Short Floorboards Poems
Short Floorboards Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Floorboards by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Floorboards by length and keyword.
dust drifts through doorway of the aging house
floorboards singing old secrets
to the settling sunlight
Tanka
Milk maids and romance
In the hay of romp and love
Mules ate the fodder
Bare floorboards on the hayloft
But fragrance of love remains.
summer dust
old porch floorboards creak
like lost time~
halcyon thoughts
drifting through my quieted mind,
warm as yesterday.
dusty room full of junk;
creaking wooden floorboards.
small dollhouse, somehow shrunk,
lies nestled, treasured time.
aging, darkened ember;
old, beat -up wooden trunk.
Lying in bed under my sheets
Something wakes me from my dreams
C-r-eak
The floorboards speak
Suddenly I can’t breathe
My heart beat beats
CREAK CREAK CREAK
Footsteps closing in on me…
2/8/12
#-11
Attic floorboards creak
Something seeks a memory
Sleep and leave it be
#-12
I'm sure there are two
Another cat sneaked inside
My cat helps it hide
Gene Bourne
06-23-14
This house has holes in the roof
It rains inside
Flooding the gaps between the floorboards
Tattered shades cover broken windows
Her doors no longer open
A shattered mess
Reflection of the heart it resides in
Creaking floorboards whisper she is up.
I move to put the coffee on.
By the mirror in the hall,
I pause to fix my hair.
I want to look my best for her.
Two seeds, long-planted,
growing comfort, as clocks run down.
A soft tension in your eyes
And my despair becomes permeable
You help me cling to my horizons
The warm light moving along darkened floorboards
Orbiting crazily
Whirling through your days
Grant me the stillness to keep you near
with each passing train
the house trembles
aborted dreams
strangers in the night
the creaking floorboards
she cheats on him
wafts of warm
spiced paratha bread
her aroma lingers
- - - - - - - - -
© paul callus
through the cracking floorboards
i hear voices from the past
when it's cold outside
and leaves are taking their final breath
all stories that started
found their endings in november
and like a skeleton ghost
they hang on the door, staring at me
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
beams groan, dusty tales
ghosts hum through attic walls
trunks hold gowns, moth-bled veils
floorboards moan 'neath time's heft~
trunks yawn in time-long sleep
time’s ghosts drift, soft and pale
"I was born with the meaning of home running through my veins."
— Lauren Eden, The Lioness Awakens, Poems
Golden flicker
Through window cracks
Morning tiptoes across floorboards
Warm like whispers of a mother’s hug
It settles deep in my soul
Lighting lost hopes
Home glows
Ageless Summery
a porch screen riddled
by fragmenting noon beacons
~~grandmas curtain hangs
chairs rock as handheld
fan waves midst squeaking floorboards
~~iced tea drinks glisten
2020 June 23
*3rd Place*
Summer Haiku's
~~Tania Kitchin
Happy
to know that soon
I will hold in my arms
my three fair faraway daughters,
who are heading home this Xmas season.
My house so quiet without them,
the floorboards creek night tears.
It too will be
happy.
04/12/2019
For William Kekaula's contest
A Red-Letter Day Rictameter.
I hear the calls
I hear the calls
I hear the calls
Breathy in those narrow streets
Until they slide under my bedroom door
Sirens in the city lurking quiet in
Corners unseen by sunlight
Where love can be found
As thick as mud under floorboards
Under my floorboards
Under my floorboards
Books stacked in the floorboards,
her breath on polished glass
Together you would drive,
skipping yet another class
Playing hooky in a hand-me-down,
if only it could last
The memory of her fades each day,
like long neglected brass
Thank the Lord for that car,
& pray you don’t forget her laugh
When Simon fell asleep on Christmas Eve.
Dreaming of presents that Santa would leave.
He soon stirred, when his door squeaked.
Open- eyed, as floorboards creaked.
Now he knows Santa, is not make-believe.
12 / 12 / 2022.
Sponsor Tania Kitchin.
A Funny Santa Limerick Poetry Contest.
howmanysyllables.com
Rotten old floorboards captured their blood
stolen from the world yet still adored;
Children taken because they could sing
forgotten but for their sound stained horror;
Held them and tucked innocence away
felt their rhythm in the house’s cry;
Swelled with the sadness of silence,
beheld the angels of music trapped inside.
dog-eyed shape of ash
an owl leaving
the cool firs;
shadow of shadow;
floorboards creaking;
a curtain`s slight dance;
black and white as my own
standing in frills in a snap
in front of a Ford Prefect
with Dad after the war.
...inspired by October Tune by Joseph Brodsky
A shelf reveals sepia-toned pictures,
floorboards groan with memories
of ages past and old men creaking,
shadows flicker lightly on the wall.
Hours flow as lava creeps,
and scattered letters lie forgotten,
dust motes float, their orbits spinning,
shifted by the ghosts of yesteryear.
i stare at my phone as my arms start to stretch,
stretching so long that i cannot catch
my brain, when it starts to pour,
pouring my memories all over the floor.
the floorboards like to creak whenever i’m near,
nearing their senses for the pouring i fear,
i fear i’m lost, and cannot regain
the noodly arms and thing i call a brain.
i stare at my phone as my arms start to stretch,
stretching so long that i cannot catch
my brain, when it starts to pour,
pouring my memories all over the floor.
the floorboards like to creak whenever i’m near,
nearing their senses for the pouring i fear,
i fear i’m lost, and cannot regain
the noodly arms and thing i call a brain.
the sweet plucking of loose guitar strings,
a bedroom window open with sheer curtains blowing in the wind.
a tree in the far distance in a field of wildflowers,
the sun shining down.
the one you love humming a slow tune down the hall, and creaking floorboards beneath your feet.
a free space of peace and healing,
what i wish for you.
...inspired by October Tune by Joseph Brodsky
A shelf reveals sepia-toned pictures,
floorboards groan with memories
of ages past and old men creaking,
shadows flicker lightly on the wall.
Hours flow as lava creeps,
and scattered letters lie forgotten,
dust motes float, their orbits spinning,
shifted by the ghosts of yesteryear.