Short Inheriting Poems
Short Inheriting Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Inheriting by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Inheriting by length and keyword.
Veins of anger surge through the city, pulsing into a raging flow
Screams of decadence and stubborn pity fall like arrows of scorn
Inheriting failure and pursuing stupidity...... is that all we know?
Form:
Inheriting
my shadow
Its legacy
dark
Willed into
my memory
Devoid
of a spark
No light
to define it
Or outline
inscribed
The emptiness
preying
Where ancestor’s
— cry
(Dreamsleep: December, 2025)
How can this happen, this outrageous political screw up
Omar Khadr was born in Canada, apparently a normal buck
The family moved to Pakistan
Since, he's been a marked man
Involved in terrorism, now inheriting millions, what the duck?
How will the robots remember us?
I’d like to think they’ll write poems in some
Style they develop for themselves, contrive
To move their electron-shifting hearts,
Inheriting our passions good and bad,
The joys and bitter miseries that they
In their birth and evolution never
Thought or ever dreamed we had.
May we be blessed to smile at every child we see.
(Oh, how I wish everybody would)
because smiling at little children…
let’s them know the world they are inheriting is good.
And if we take the time to smile at ever child we see…
we’ll be doing our part in making that world
as good as we hope it will be.
Out drinking with an
Australian girl I knew
We met her friend
Two days away
From inheriting a
Fortune
She insisted we sit down
Outside an Italian place
To eat
She ordered a bowl of
Gnocchi
First time I ever ate it
Two or three mouthfuls
Well wow
& the rich girl to be
Took off & stiffed us
With the bill
& I still eat gnocchi
& I still hate the rich
GROWING WITH AN EMPTY HOURGLASS
Today’s dawn disturbed a dreaming child
She’ll never hold her father’s hand
He clutched an arm ablaze and wild
Leaving him in pieces piled
Lost and left to where they’d land
Yet his baby laughed and smiled
Far too young to understand
Now the future holds her heavy heart
Inheriting time’s weightiest grains of sand
Absence…
Form:
Lasagna noodles on my forehead
A washcloth in the pot
Oh dear, oh my, what am I doing?
I think I completely forgot
It’s dinner time for all the kiddies
And I put the toaster in the sink
I’m losing it, my mind is warped
I’m edging to the brink
Maybe I should stop to breathe
Uh oh, I forgot, again, just how
Alright already, I give in
I’m gonna order out
INDIA 2014.
Inclusive and internalizing for ages
New-tech-nation of Nirvana-seeking sages
Democratic but mired in dissent that rages.
Integrity its new ‘mantra’; equality
And liberty , watchwords , along with amity.
Inheriting a great heritage from a hoary past
Grabbing modernity’s gifts, it is growing fast.
Form: Acrostic
07 Apr 14.
For Kim Merryman's contest.
She is out of her mind her relatives said.
They wanted her embalmed, cremated or dead.
Lucinda had her wits and was not to be dissuaded.
She gave them all the boot, they were downgraded.
She had a dream, and intended to put it into action.
Wanted a gingerbread house to give satisfaction.
Builder and construction crew were happy to do it.
Relatives inheriting nothing had a huge hissy fit.
There was existence,
without space.
I was afraid of my unborn child.
Inheriting the stammer
of history
I could not think of any brand abuse.
On the contrary, fumes
throw you off the road.
Full moon rising on the cleft.
I was, as I am, never being
to any threat of drowning
in contradictions.
A dignity in withdrawl
and coming back after sunset –
to walk in night, alone.
SATISH VERMA
But daring and wild,
I am still but only a child,
the sauce I choose at taco bell is not mild.
For fire is the one I choose and the one I use.
If you dare me
I swear I wont loose, but ignorant I am in the eyes of the wiser.
Clever I am in the eyes of my common friend and foe.
Wise I am to them, sadly inheriting a skill of a miser.
The only difference between me and you is that I row
thru the sea's of time lacking experience.
They are old, flaking,
Peeling from the root up, inheriting
Two Souls:
That of some faceless creature before me,
Faceless but soulful and charitable and
Dead
Probably, but I'll never know.
And mine. Shaping and misshaping
Their worn out insides,
Letting them know they're mine now,
These twisted string ties are mine now,
These thick rubber roots are mine now,
This red.
O this glowing patent red
Was always mine,
I just didn't know yet.
It's always the impoverished
that get it worse.
On occasions the wealthy
get it,
but the poor
can expect to get it worse.
Mother Nature
goes for the weakest buildings,
the driest wood,
the lowest,
most fragile among us
The meek often end up
precipitously dead.
Often, I ponder
about inheriting the Earth
I mean, is it worth it?
Often, I wonder if lightning bolts
especially single-out the meek.
I guess it's good to be special.
Assume you have to ask questions and you
Can mess up. You
Can apologize and make it up by
Offering to help
Understand a problem and
Never pretend to empathize. Just
Treat people right
Ask to hear both sides of a story
Before making one evil, another inheriting all glory
Illustrate what you preach
Learn why things work
Indecisiveness needs to stop, make up your mind
Trials and tribulations will test your character,
Yield happiness and calm, life will be a delight.
We are inheriting Art and Arc
Of trying to understand.
How once, we were fingers,
Born of the same common hand.
Miniatures born into this land
Of thought.
Tactile each, and that ought,
To have been enough.
But,
In the sound of each brushed whisper
Overheard in the billowing clouds,
We fought the thought
Of the popular injunction.
Loud as a newborn’s cry,
Yet rough
As an unwanted memorry.
We are the ones
Still trying
To Understand.
Burnt-out myths in the old city
are stitching the lips of people.
Pink walls smell like blood.
Priest is dumb, hoisting the headless
deity on throne. Marigolds
are soaked in flowing tears.
Innocent wheels riding against blast,
stand still to measure
the half-life of seizures.
Cult was spreading in place,
fingers and cells Dynasties inheriting
the bleached fathers.
The ages rot under the sculptors.
We walk on water, wordless, sightless
for the thin hope.
SATISH VERMA
Form:
It heaves you up;
too antsy to stay
on the waves,
inheriting the power-
dynamics of deemed palaces.
Channeling the inner Gandhi
or Buddha to reincarnate
the fragrance of past. Could
have become a golden
era again.
The fraud ! Everthing was
created by a mockingbird.
Are you sure there
was a war cry between
the insects ?
You remind me of ugly
dads fathering a new generation
of unborn myths.Thousands of
witnesses will keep their
eyes shut.
Satish Verma