Short Homegrown Poems
Short Homegrown Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Homegrown by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Homegrown by length and keyword.
I went barefoot and stepped on a stone,
my gait went haywire and I was thrown,
while I was stumbling sideways,
police thought I'm in a haze...
"Honest officer, there's no homegrown!"
Twas exhausted night before Thanksgiving,
after few eggnog Whiskeys, relieving.
Awful chilling and spooky,
Boo-hoo, the turkey soupy,
Homegrown, fear fill eyes were unforgiving.
A restive moon
went on skirmishing with-
the palm leaves in dark.
*
There was no
move to prevent the private
fleet of homegrown myths.
*
Scores of fallen
shoots you will find on the street
after the violence.
Satish Verma
Jaspers are a gifted lot;
they mimic many things.
From poppies to a leopard’s spots,
their pictures really sing.
It weighs much less than many stones;
in it you’ll see colored fissures,
holding abstract stories, all homegrown;
such lovely artsy mixtures.
June
Spring is starting to fade
Summer is ready to get started
Berries are ripening
Flowers are blooming
Homegrown vegetables are right around the corner
I dreamed about this time of year
As snow and temps were falling
Though I enjoyed the hibernation
I look forward to sun kissed skin
Hello June, I missed you
he was among my hometown's merry eccentrics,
sort of a homegrown clown full of fun, wit and tricks;
it was quite hard to tell whenever he nodded
if he was shooing away a fly on his head
or was acknowledging you and the gnats and ticks,
or nodding to a tune he heard when he was six.
She's a homegrown, homesick, hometown girl. The one I wanted to become.
Pretty and slim and sought after the teens I read about in slivers of streetlamp on long roadtrip nights. She's not the sharpest spoon in the microwave, but she's the lovliest flower of the bunch, and honey this youth is survival of the prettiest. Chin up. Grin up. Good luck.
When light will not
enter the cove,
water breaks in.
He jumped to death
with his book in his hands.
The silence starts speaking.
What was this brand
of homegrown belief ?
Truth has been punished.
How big was the murder ?
Realization comes very late.
The path to violence-
was through god. The
somatic victory gets
a gruesome reward.
Satish Verma
Silhouette of a sassy
Little sex pot
Trembling in midnight air
By her big white picture windowsill
Captured by a muse she feeds in her mind
Loved by homegrown worshippers
She never really has to leave
Bitter is as bitter does
And what has been seen are her bitter,
Reddened lips
And her fake silk-lined soul
All crazy nail biting
Vengeance and delusion
Oh the petulant crone!
Form:
No mansion on the lake
A cottage on the lane
A hub for dwelling sake
Worn wood on windowpane
Potatoes in the bin
A mattress for my bed
A table in the den
Suffice for breaking bread
A garden wrought with weeds
That flourishes in the Fall
But still supplies my needs
When neighbors come to call
Though rustic it may be
Whenever I may roam
I ever long to see
This place that I call home
There’s a wizard who sticks to his own
Affirming truth* in his comfort zone
Welcoming change as right
When not left to bring blight
Cleaving to good news that are homegrown.
*John 14:6 Jesus saith unto him, I am the way, the truth, and the life: no man cometh unto the Father, but by me.
November 24, 2024
3rd place, "Wizard Of Oz Limerick" Poetry Writing Contest
Sponsored by Charles Messina; judged on 12/13/2024
Listen to poem:
Their fiery blossoms swayed against the sky
In breezy weather and Mama and I
played games, describing how
the long, gold-tipped pistils wrote,
on air, sweeping pollen poems.
No eye that saw could help but read.
Their blooms were red against the green,
And in the early morning wet we deemed
We saw the blood of homegrown heroes,
Who died for duty, deftly limned ---
Dreams to occupy two minds
That loved the moves, in wind,
Of red hibiscus past their primes.
Backwoods and homegrown
Country boy is how I'm known
Cowboy boots and faded jeans
A little rough around the seams
Not a fan of foreign cars
I drink Jack while at the bars
I say yes ma'am and hey y'all
I do some huntin every fall
A 30-30 or 30.06
Thats how we do it in these sticks
Lord I love some good moonshine
Y'all city folks can keep your wine
Your opinion just don't matter
To me, its all just useless chatter
Heaven knows I'm just a country boy
But my life is full of joy