Short Legible Poems
Short Legible Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Legible by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Legible by length and keyword.
The name no longer legible,
Eroded, lichen covered slate,
Dead flowers in a broken pot:
Who rests in this neglected state?
For Susan’s Forgotten contest
SYMBOLIC ALLUSION
observing
sketching
endlessly
fascinated
&
reflecting
legible
lighting
fashioned
&
arresting
conscious
elaboration
in
visual
gilding
intricacy
standing
pale
The natural& the normal,synthetic yet,small scale,regular and the
irregular, embossed.Illumed in the artificial light .Drawings and legible forms intrique and beguile creating mind-games in memory.
Characature & cartoon avant-garde of the geometric in three dimensional desire.
journalism is objective by law
the decrease in legible statements is mathematically irrelevant to peaceful assembly
disruption of legislation is against the law.
how to correct young journalists? no press pass, press pass is test for editor to observe through french general assembly window if ink should be awarded.
AN ECLECTIC ENIGMA 4
The natural& the normal,synthetic
yet,small scale,regular and the
irregular,embossed.Illumed in the artificial light
Drawings and legible forms intrique
and beguile creating mind-games
in memory.Charactiture & cartoon
avant-garde of the geometric
in three dimensional desire.
Inspired by Jim Ede’s collection of artworks
Hear me recite this series on youtube under4 pen name ichthyschiro
Hunger hits
wonder this
so many bellies cry
while they tell me lies
not a appetizer
bread for all
rich look like
they want us to dead and fall
adversity ain't edible
how hard is it feed people
why is this a problem
that is incredible
hope this is legible
Cause negligence is a pedistal
getting the devil full
My Father got something for all us
it's called judgement Enjoy
not jealous or envious
Just gas
when the hunger hits wonder this
A vicious rehearsal
has forked out. It is a flame that
bothers but borders on the
essence of life—the
survival of a community
searching for answers
after the quake and
the flood. I gather
these rhymes like
firewood
as I piece together the lines
only legible to the living.
These metaphors speak
to me, dressing my wounds,
unveiling my
valleys, as my rivers
flow downstream, before
emptying into the Atlantic.
And so it begins, At 2am
awakened by Muse,
I grab my pen;
my journal open To a blank page;
I set the scene upon the stage.
From Muse’s mind to mine,
down the arm to the pen,
flow letters, words
and they spill haphazardly
upon the page;
painting the first scene with,
colors bold.
Repeat, repeat;
a second scene…
a third, a fourth,
now pouring clean
and fresh, crisp;
more legible;
and I wonder…
Will she ever finish?
I need sleep.
Written: 2-9-19