Short Garbed Poems
Short Garbed Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Garbed by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Garbed by length and keyword.
Heat; day's, night's. The difference
Twixt caliph's oppressiveness
Swirled of sands about;
And what fine garbed, a-glitter
Offspring's, oozing sultriness
His own, lures back out.
When
vague ghosts
and spectral mists
manifest fully clothed
garbed in period dress or suit.
My one question is, why aren't they naked?
Humans may have a soul, but
clothes do
not.
GEISHA
Genteel girls trained to charm
Gentlemen with their wit,
Graceful dancing and song.
Garbed in silk kimonos,
Garnished with exquisite
Gems and embroidery -
Gracious teahouse hostess.
10/25/16
deep down in the sea
…in the mist of a dark
surrounded by sharks
…Up in the sky
garbed by the cold
…my soul floated with the wind
unsettled on clouds
…beauty of your presence,
brought peace into my heart.
faint essence exudes
gentle generosity
I’m swept by your scent
carnival raiment
gorgeously garbed in motley
I’m lost in your charms
following each leaf
landing lightly down below
I’m falling for you
Phantoms eerie,
burned and blackened
arms upraised in supplication
bent and broken, beckoning.
Driftwood garbed they testify
in shrouded mist, in foggy sky
Woodland graveyard, petrified
Silent screams
assault the senses
“Who says fire cleanses”
The cardinal shattered the chalice
with blood of his former god and
the men garbed in tainted white
glorified their new Son
sheer roars, juddering
holes in riot
meet your god
'neath your
feet!
(c) Glenn Sentes
Adjudged Fourth Place in Nette Onclaud's IMAGINATION Contest
6-6-12
Good-gesture greenthumb gatherers gleaned grain,
gargantuan granary,
grower's great goodwill greeting,
gazillion grade-schoolers, grownups,
gingham-garbed grandmother's,
grievous growling guts gone,
gain gastronomical goodies gardens,
grapes, granola, gourds, gosh!
generosity galore, golly, gobsmacked!
golden godsend
When will my rain clouds subside and fill my life with sunshine. Is it too much to ask for a break? I have made lemonade so many times, I don't think life has anymore lemons to give me. Let me sip the sweet from the comb of my labour, I have been through enough. Wearing a smile yet garbed inside with pain, pretending like I have it all together. I need a break!!
As my doleful gaze upon thy form hath fallen,
Garbed in the fashion of sadness or mourning,
Nightly tresses thy sombre tone adorning,
Decadent and beauteous, as a Seraph fallen.
A woebegone faerie with wings lost and broken,
Enshrouded in blackness, a sepulchral lady,
With thy pallid skin and thy heart so shady,
Thou art a graveyard angel who seldom has spoken.
Bare branches clicking together
Winter snapping it’s fingers
To a song composed by Nature
Sung by winds garbed in
White robes of snow
Choral composition
Season of transition
Music swirls all about us
Yet…given not
To Man to know
A song unheard…
Except by Angels
To mere mortals
E’er unknown
Of Winter days that
in most marvelous ways
Makes one want to
…write a poem…
The sound of Black is Thunderous
booming in a darkened sky
that is ominous
The sound of Black is Scary
Black cats and Black-garbed witches
creating a cacophony
The sound of Black is a Croak
from Black crows and ravens
on the branches of an oak
The sound of Black is Beautiful
Black people worldwide
dressed up very colourful
The sound of Black is Concordant
Ladies in their black dresses
looking smart and elegant
Did time betray the one weilding the sickle or was it the drones in the sky?
Were the hammers not forged to fight bullets
Were my bullets not the same as the one that tore through me?
You who were garbed in rich silk
Did you trample on the hands that reached for the skies.
You who quoted my verses in strife
Did you not raise a finger and let the blooming petals die.
You who caved in, did you not love me to let me go by?
Gypsies garbed in colorful robes
fortune tellers on the seaside boardwalk
sneers they get from nonbelievers
“Vagrants,” they call tramps
hobos from Hoboken to Alcatraz
quietly passing the bottle to all in the boxcar
don’t confuse thieves with gypsies and tramps
we can say, “No,” to gypsies and refuse handouts to tramps
the desperate who steal find a new home in jail
*Entry for Lisa’s “Gypsies, Tramps and Thieves” contest