Short Nakedly Poems
Short Nakedly Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Nakedly by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Nakedly by length and keyword.
Here is a bookworm
Knows how cloth weaving
To cover his body weaving
This is useless
To all cloth less
Nakedly shivering
Carress her spine,
Finger the folds of her pages,
Make love to her letters,
Touch her where she is most fragile,
Make her bindings come undone.
Love her, nakedly.
Love her like your favorite book.
Seatless, with your best last breath,
nakedly being blessed,
being surrounded by white walls
and a waltz-
this wake-up in the dark is a phase of your in-kin,
finding their next bike-spin,
pleasantly yet vaguely obeying the jim.
Encoded mind
Camouflage eyes
Nakedly I except you
Invisible kiss
Pinecone at its peak
Everlasting stream
Playful chase
Wild become still
Universal love
Thousand rainfall
The silent call
Of the beautiful heart
Wondrous creation
Beautiful nature
Bathing me
You look nakedly clean
Like a pebble;
Kissing my brows
You glow
Like winter flames;
Taking me into your arms
You sleep
To dream and sink.
The white marble* humming
Heaven of earth , my mother,
The prowess of love !
*Written after seeing an image of a baby set at a mother's waist
oh kevin
my
love
why whould you
offer my breasts grip
your words twirl
on my
golden locks
love rock
after seeing
you nakedly clapping
we cant get you
out
of
our
dreams
you crying on your birthday
turned our rivers
into rage ing seas
come on over
dance naked
with
me
?
trying to
sleep counting
the proverbial fence
leaping endless rainbow
of sheep
passing time
tiredly trying to
induce slumber but
notice
as each
ovine leaps
the next has less
wool then
the one before
so forgetting about
REM now i need see
for sure
how nakedly
shorn if there is
a last one will be
Form:
Who would become so fundamentally foolish
to separate a strong dancer
from her flowing dance?
The secular singer
from his sacred song?
Mountainous storytellers
from our rivered story?
Felt humane communion
from our most nakedly divine communications?
Spirited habits
dispirited from Earth's natural habitats?
Evangelical legends
from love's integrity,
passion's timeless curiosity?
Some poems
don't need
to be said.
They're shared
between eyes
and thought
caressing
body's telepathy
Pupils dilate
from her elation.
God I love
my own creation.
How it flows
from a muse
and forms
symbiotic energy.
It's like
wearing words
and my vocabulary
is hers for devouring.
The pen leaves
me naked
but she's the one
shaking from every
truth shared
Spin, twirl, they swirl
Mesmerized I sit
And watch colours mix,
match.... hopefully
Here is that sock,
it gapes and screams
silenced by the brief
strangled by failed
shirr
It purrs, white one-eyed cat alike
(I sneeze, washing-powder
allergy.)
To fall asleep
so soothingly lulled
to oblivion,
nakedly in wait
for my beloved
belongings.
***
May 23, 2017
Copyright © Darren White
Listen to poem:
You sound like a fingernail
dragged over a blackboard.
Every word cast as blackmail
from a forked tongue in cheek.
Bathed in the vile, bile of diatribe,
masticated to be flung as dung expelled.
Your snarled words reek with
the dissonant cadence of discordance.
As your eyes flicker
from side to side with lies,
you look away, unable
to face me, eye to eye,
unmasked,
unshielded,
nakedly exposed,
in tune tonality,
truthful.
Stillness of morning
Damp and multigreen
from predawn rain
Feathered choir resting from
greeting song of dawn
Artful preening touchups of
scattered random song
as flowers slowly rise and dry
in stately disarray
A soft breeze teases small
new leafed branches
Fresh painted life drips clearly
in new light
So many myriad hues of green
so nakedly truly shown
without blinding bleaching sun
A pre day showing
rewards an early riser
There's sadness in falling leaves, but beauty
in the carpet they lay at our feet.
~ by poet
I walked across a trestle bridge cloaked in scarlet leaves
They had whirled and pirouetted as if little ballerinas
dancing in Autumn's wind at the end of their season
How bravely they continued until bowing on the bridge
Not a sound did they make, weaving around each other
Looking on were their bare branches, nakedly chagrinned
A living poem, not yet written,
not yet visible, haunts the periphery
of the inner eye.
She is as light as a feather,
though she has a deep-set gravity,
her presence impels my mind toward her.
Which way to seek?
The poem that is not yet created
is a womb both empty and full,
its potential
demands subservience.
A dark machinery makes love,
to the unsubstantial,
and one single insight is born,
from that seed within a seed,
she nakedly comes,
now you must dress her.