Short Garde Poems
Short Garde Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Garde by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Garde by length and keyword.
Advancing the soul,
metaphysical orc, promote
original thinking,
experience all, I need sleep.
https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCgZCmCJJoCVwq2M3GH8VzLQ
Fearless Avant Garde fashion witch concocts love potion number twenty-three
A glorious new elixir that truly makes new sense of “blessed be”.
There are many who watch her create this mysterious recipe.
Dancing with the ambiance of this sleek classy newcomer witch named Fee.
Ask for insight,
Visual impart;
Attend clear light,
Note avant-garde;
Trust weird vision,
Glimpse twist and turn;
Aim sets traction,
Reap inner churn;
Dance with frolic,
Enter quaint style;
Sense weird logic,
Tend a child wild;
Address ***** proof,
Yield surreal truth.
Leon Enriquez
25 August 2014
Singapore
Coloring clouds with sparkling sapphire
filling them in with a clear blue sky;
Seamless strokes paint a glittery glow,
a happy thought’s an art deco gem;
Catching the light as if bathed in fire
nature’s potent muse pleases the eye;
Throwing a smile on every shadow
they brighten with fresh optimism;
A cyclone that leaves an all time low
gives way to an avant-garde prism.
Battalion column coup de grace;
It’s what was planned, but didn’t work that way.
We’ve bled all our embarrassments
At bayonet point and now must cede the day.
God damn the blasted cavalry;
They’ve left this muddy field a bloody pool.
All hell for the artillery;
I’d like to face one gunner in a duel.
It’s over, done and finished with.
The very best withdraw in disarray.
La Garde reculé.
I hold my sword in my hand.
Wield it with skill and precision.
Watching my opponents.
Knowing when to advance,
Lunge.
Slight Attaque au fer to start.
Parry.
Waiting for that opening.
Passe.
Passbackwards.
Parlee.
Position is everything.
Knows well.
passbackwards.
Feint.
There lunge, in vein.
With quick step, yielding parry.
Prise de fer.
Coupe.
Under the intellect of
My pen.
My sword.
Touché.
Listen to poem:
Book of Breathings
David J Walker
Cruel clock
Supernatural sail
A false friend
in the wind
blending in
To a breeze
at the speed
Of a whirlwind
Tell me again
about your tomorrow
the sorrow comes with the dawn
in time to
Borrow phrases
from the model
of an avant-garde lexicon
Carved by men in caves
Painted in pen
In the
Book of Breathings
before we are gone
and gravity claims us all
our swords unsheathed
it is our time to spar
sparing no blows
no matter
how hard
flesh feels the wounds
with love and lust filled
thrusts trusting
to make a mark
scar the heart
pain changes to bliss
torturing each other
with touch just so
then i give in
taking
your sword in hand
guiding it towards
a hole made
many months
ago showing
you where i want
you to take me
even if
a little
death
is all i get
please
kill me
every
day
merci
Form:
melting snowball
Fall-out started with the spring-break competition;
Errors were made as team effort slid downhill.
Then when name-calling sparked a partition,
esprit-de-corps broke to a stand-still.
“Butterfingers!” the dig of choice,
sabers, rifles drop in flight.
“Cretin!” answers a voice,
winter guard backbite.
“Bozo, Clod, Clown”
teenage jeers,
meltdown -
tears.
written March 20, 2018
Line Gauthier's A Melting Snowball contest