Short Missives Poems
Short Missives Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Missives by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Missives by length and keyword.
Some writers struggle
Coughing up words in a painful way
I feel a bit of their agony as I read their missives
A jumpy spotty difficult flow is painful to readers too
It's time
To bring back
The days
Weeks
Months
We spent locked in combat
It's time
To wade through
The bones
Lungs
Hearts
That still yearn for you
I love cock-eyed whangdoodle writing
When frogs are croaking and fish are biting
I adore silly missives with cartoon-like stuff
Of child-like fun I simply cannot get enough
Poet
Wordsmith master
Intense concentration
Playful muse untethered release
Study missives, marveling at their worth
The erasing, chasing, pacing
Challenging word play self
An Inspired
Poet
the barrage
incessant
24/7
day after day
after day...
the bombardment
will not
go away
columns of tanks
missives of missiles
roar of rockets
the news cycle
dashes
all hope
Her preservative process
To utilize words no one knows or understands
Guarantees her failure in the contest realm
She does not do well with herself
Using these unnecessarily verbose vocabulary words
Most of us stopped reading her missives years ago
Inside the Keepers pantry
Jesus can stare at any mirror
Our lives have changed
likens the chaff of wheat
The Lord is neigh
as truth wrestles amongst the shimmering trees
and we are guided by our missives
The green patterns of holly
roots our dreams
each of my fingers has a mind of her own
tapping a rhythm as she taps out a poem
I relax as the ten take over the task bossily
writing missives that are way beyond the real me
as my fingers dance on the computer keys
I wonder, do other poets have fingers like these?
I reach for a book
A tiny arm comes out of the spine
The arm slaps my hand
Not that one, my muse suggests
The next novel laughs as I open her
Then she screams
But wait
Is that another laugh?
Have these missives always been alive?
Why has it taken me so long to notice?
Pictures posed in finest clothes
smiling eyes that tantalize
Words so warm, so sure to charm
yet acrid thoughts are all she's got
Never paired, her hatred's shared
through missives penned to many men
Stay in your hole, please, bitter troll
or heal your heart, before you start
Take something with you
You ll get hungry on the way
hurry to your destination
taking in your daily pride
there's missives to write
like exalted letters
take these promises
rinse the truth
like a plummeting bird
the painter paints his vista
and sees you by the world
birth out in the mist
bright things then have birth
between the beauty and decay
molten lead adjourned
the faithfulness of a century
lies bedridden
the missives continueth
Doom stirs the mosaics of dearth
please do not disturb
the cadence of tomorrow's plan
The butterflies hoover
Keep quiet, be nice.
Do not love, be cold as ice.
Alas, spineless mice!
Just one life to live.
Light poems that drip like old sieves?
Meaningless missives!
3/3/2021
~2~
Twinkle Snowman loved the evening star
Feeling it came from somewhere afar
Glittery diamond paved way for dreams
Floating in tandem with starlit beams
Heaven is close Twinkle told his friend
Magical missives from December end
Showed him mystical power from this star
Comes every Christmas to raise the bar
I read poetry from forty poets last night
some of these missives were brilliant
others were stunningly fresh
I try to intentionally forget most of it
not wanting to be a word thief
or a plagiarists
I cannot fathom why any writer would use A.I.
What satisfaction could that give them?
I want my own words, my own way and no one else’s.
I see value in every poem I read
often wishing I had thought to write that line myself
or that word or that stanza
I sometimes marvel at the rhyming prowess of the poet
so many marvelous missives to read
I concentrate on the short ones
skipping all of the long ones
figuring they have lots of extra words
my attention span is better used elsewhere
The magic qualities of the moon
oozed in my sleeping berth, enlightening me gently.
Sage ideas danced and played,
swirling around poetic missives, forgotten by morning.
These are not your best, a woman’s voice whispered,
giving me a fair delicate warning.
Prepared by soulful ancestral pull of the
mystical, magical moon ladies of the stars evidently.
Luther had a tendency to write with prolixity
using six adjectives when two would do
there were no breaks in his text
his missives were written as a brick pedestal
solid from side to side, top to bottom
Many who read the words of other poets skipped his
preferring to spend their time on smaller less wordy missives
Oftentimes less is more
in poetry as well as art.
Little earthen quakes
Rumblings of the soul
Missives made of letters
Placed in ordered rows
Tales of ancient ruins
Never told before –
Little earthen quakes
Restless on the page
Telling little tales
Giving it away –
Aftershock upheavals
Pain, that trembles, grows
For the pen that wrote them
Little did it know
Little earthen tremors
Never letting go –
To start with a word -- an object, person, notion, or motion,
something intimate, personal... to develop it, digging deep,
to then expand it, connecting its dots to the far reaches of
the universe... Ah, Poetry! few feelings more rewarding...
specks in the cosmos
poets launch brilliant missives
-- to eternity
June 23, 2020
Rhymes and Reasons Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Line Gauthier
My time not yet,
This denial still denied,
These choices from aught,
In darkness still cried,
Who knows depths unreached,
Passive anger evolving faster,
Trials failed vitality leached,
Missives quoted dialing disaster,
Only misfortune I've kissed,
None other would dare,
Chance all others missed,
Finding any who care,
Before I greet farewell,
Innocence soul cannot understand,
Maybe one tale tell,
Improbable yet unhealed hand.
the crow was shaking, his feet could barely land
He had recently come from graves near the sand
What has frightened you? I asked, watching him squirm.
Was it a devil, a Dracula, a ghoul, a snake or a worm?
Have you ever read Poe? He asked me with a quaking beak.
I had actually read a few of his missives just last week.
His words are frightening, they terrified me forevermore he said.
Don’t worry, I told him, ravens will handle it and Poe is dead.
I decided that poetry was no longer my thing
Ideas were not coming, falling off my back, sliding onto my desk.
I shut down my computer and stopped thinking of words.
My list-making ceased. I was done. It was over. Kaput.
This lasted about three days, but then bam.
The muses were back in full force, and I began filling up notebooks.
I had to have a place to put these missives.
What better place than Poetry Soup?
So forty-nine hours later, I was back.