Short Hackles Poems
Short Hackles Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Hackles by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Hackles by length and keyword.
The rest of us
could never compete
Roosters strut
sadly behind
with unnoticed
orange hackles
Pheasants scratch
at the dirt
He ruins rainbows
with feathered ego
and metallic iridescence
We all guffaw
because we don’t know
what to do
Turquoise plumage
always wins
Noshing time
for but a moment muzzled
to bring vaccinations
up to date
Far from a ceasefire
this is but a pause
without relief
for the pending prey
it is palpable
The paws that pace
the hackles that raise
the eyes that are laser fixed
that a purpose bred
purpose trained
war dog
lays in wait
Hoarder holds her hostage, heaps heavy history hysterics.
Her husband, horrific. Harried hugs humiliate. Hops, hits
hags — harmed honeymoon. Hiss harkened hellbound Harris.
Hysterical Helena hinted hate, harbinger hackles heightened, hot.
How? Hagfish homicide? Herbs? Homer helps Helena hack!
12/18/2020
Alliteration Contest
Sponsor: Eve Roper
At the moor's edge
where the cliff-drop gnaws the wind
and a jutting ledge raises it hackles,
fingers scrabble, skinned toes curl
within stiff-jawed boots.
Turn an ankle here,
and you may fall
unleashed
to die somewhere
out of sight.
Do not enter your mind here
in that place
where a whipped dog cowers.
Cling,
rope yourself to the sky -
Growl.
The human form so slightly alters
And tells a tale of times gone by
Even when the voices decry
Our spirit never falters.
Spinning with each turn of the globe
Dancing forms are changed
Some may say we become deranged
As our skin begins to disrobe.
Feral creatures control the floor
Our hackles raised as we dance
Giving ourselves to our trance
Two legs shift to four.
Sienna...
Sounded like silk
looked like silk
it felt like silk
rolling over her tongue
over her skin
every hair on her neck standing on end
Hackles rippling
hers and his
as he turned his steely blue head towards her
Eye to eye with something so wild
she felt her soul
succumb
Light headed
she sighed
nay swooned
scratching Kestrel off her list
4.7.2020
Head buried beneath the wind
hung-up
grasping an overhang
hugging
the thin bones of wiry tussocks
At the moor's edge
where the cliffs-drop
rocky teeth
gnaw at the sky
a jutting ledge
raises it hackles
fingers scrabble
skinned toes curl
wet boots creak
Turn an ankle here
and you may fall
unleashed
Cling
Do not
enter your mind
where whipped dogs cower
Head buried beneath the wind,
hung, grasping an overhang,
hug the thin bones of wiry tussocks.
At the moor's edge
where the cliff-drop, gnaws at the sky,
a jutting ledge raises it hackles,
fingers scrabble, skinned toes curl
within creaking jawed boots
Turn an ankle here,
and you may fall
unleashed
to die somewhere.
Cling!
Laugh at yourself.
Do not enter your mind,
where your whipped dog cowers.
Her name was Magic, Maggie for short
She loved being outside, and to cavort,
Black as coal from the local coal mine
She raised her hackles along her spine,
At night she made a soft meowing sound
Glad we rescued Maggie from the pound,
When winter came, she lived inside
We were all bereft when Maggie died.
FIRST PLACE WINNER
written March 25, 2022
"Black Cat" Poetry Contest
sponsored by Robert James Liguori
He rides on the back of the wind,
Wild and free to roam
The wilderness is his playground,
His own choosing, the game is his.
With agility and poise he is cunning,
His savage beauty bears him grace.
Wizened eyes hold his mystery,
Mesmerising to the point of seduction.
As the shadows beckon, his hackles rise,
A warrior, he is sight and sound.
His cry forlorn across the night,
As hypnotised by the moon he calls.
©.L.Kelly
Form:
Could it your fancy tickle:
The fluid you need does trickle;
Legs once free like vehicles
On Stopped Feet of Manacles?
Won’t it up get one’s hackles
That one often tasks tackles
Others’ Wrists not in shackles
For what one down to buckles?
You others tag ‘The Fickle’
Fit only for the sickle;
Expo sure to ridicule:
Lots of in Article
That you know “Just Bicycle”
Swearing on “No Icicle!”
Honestly, I won’t like it,
Though shan’t jump into a pit!
It is quiet now
the sun moves up the ridge
honey crisp scent of freedom
hovers, engulfing all the air
pangs of pleasure peal
primrose bows her head
yellow paints the morning
the fields are all aglow
dew dresses up the hackles
glisten comes to call
enlighten paints the picture
leaves begin to fall
recall enters to the garden
tiny footfalls traced in awe
nothing goes unnoticed
gaze, then gather in it all
It may be affected by political acts.? Yet a
History of relevant fact, is what was done
Under the sun.' In recounting of its gristle
And bristles? Why are hackles raised.? Why
Are heckles made.? Why shout about odds.
If the numbers aren't stacked.'
Its what it is
Or is for some? That the rub.' If its not that
Malleble.? Then they show not love.'
Although in the halls of power, are virtues
Touted, in a ( broad aside ) they
are quite usually, and most wilfully flouted.'
Lips toothy smiles never desert:
For one's main course pays plus dissert
A granted walk by a bush stopped,
A political subject dropped!
Eyes searching for yours, finding them
Eyes proclaiming you a rare gem...
Soon, breathing down a not-warmed neck;
A time,if you're wise,him check.
Ladies should go beyond 'Recoil'
Their hackles rise,their blood boil
"Heh guy!I see that you're trying:
My eyes have yet to start lying!"
The war is against reduction
From submission to seduction.