Short Linen Poems
Short Linen Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Linen by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Linen by length and keyword.
patches of coarse green grass
seem like raw silk yarn
pearls of dew supple them
glimmer as dyed green linen
Place: 3rd
I guess you can only use a rag so long
before you're left with a tabloid
(I think this was actually a comedian's joke years ago if I remember correctly)
Out of the autumnal cold you arrive,
humbly individuals and families come in.
We're setting the linen table,
your burdensome famish ends here.
Feast with thanksgiving and God's Gospel. ~
And I am captivating pleasantries
I am optimistic
In my realities
I am comforted by my comforter made of cotton silk
Etched in gold
My blanket embraces me
and I am comforted
8/13/20
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr
Gossamer, gently cool,
brushed against flushed hot face,
like water pooled in desert land;
softness kneaded with much
glad wearing, not unlike
the feel of mother's wrinkled hand.
November 9, 2017
Knit Your Fabric Contest
Sponsor, Nette Onclaud
Verse Form
Today we can get lost in my bed.
We can build a fortress of pillows and sheets.
Today we can think up whole worlds beneath my blankets,
Worlds with people who have lives that I cannot yet imagine.
Maybe if we get lost there we might find someone I could be.
Then when we leave,
Maybe,
If we leave,
It will no longer be pretend.
I think of you as my bedroom drapes,
Easy shaded armour to the days.
Sometimes breaking, sometimes braked.
Totally held up inside cliche,
We all always behave the same way.
The shadows have hungry hands and
Your lullaby can't sing
Because your throat is linen.
I'm captured by your curtain,
Thus one thing is for certain..
We must stay wrapped up together for all
Of always.
© 2012 (Jim Sularz)
A stitch, a knot, a sudden tear,
some missing counts along the folds.
Her cloth was sewn in Life's fine linen,
and bordered, in marygolds.
Still monogrammed, but mostly worn,
in bold initials, RHS.
With mauve tear-dropped appliqués,
in the center, two silhouettes.
For naked she came and naked she left,
her embroidered life was sewn untold.
In pink chenille and diamond eyelets,
with resplendent marygolds!
If you were to laugh at the silly moon,
with your Magritte suggestion -
"This is not a pipe"
Then, I would laugh too.
Let's write our woes on a piece of linen, and
fold it into itself. Let's let the aroma crawl up
our bodies and into our flared nostrils, let the
smoke burn our eyes and touch our pallid lips...
If you were to puncture your secret wound,
and paint the gray world with
the only color you know,
then, perhaps I should, too.