Short Oration Poems
Short Oration Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Oration by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Oration by length and keyword.
Black
No color
Blank
Without Splendor
No fancy trimmings
No thoughts
Void
Empty
No eloquent oration
No honor
Absent
Marc Antony's funeral oration
Masterpiece of shrewd persuasion
Igniting sundry Romans' fierce desire
To douse 'noble Brutus' life with fire
Don't stop me now, on a roll my friends
Destined for greatness wearing my Depends
As I accept congratulations
Squirming during my oration
Hope no one notices and my speech transcends
Don't stop me now, I'm on a roll my friends
Destined for greatness wearing my Depends
As I accept congratulations
Squirming during my oration
Hope no one notices and my speech transcends
Should mortification
be justification
for your fortification
Then you need
a long vacation
'Judgment, thou art fled to brutish beasts...'
Marc Antony's 'Funeral Oration' in Shakespeare's "Julius Caesar"
Reciting prayers,
Body splayed across the floor,
Reaching for heaven.
Knees gnarled and bent,
Mouth calloused from oration,
Hands clasped tightly shut.
Passionless faith is,
Just ceaseless recitation,
Magic doomed to fade.
Oh how fine to be read by those who appreciate poetic jargon.
(Someone read my poem!)
Oh so grand to be heard through oration.
(Wow! I heard my poetry out loud!)
But ecstasy is to be understood by those who read or hear our scribed thoughts.
(YES! YES! YES!)
Proses and poems
Pictured prevail
Emotions emancipated
Feelings of frail
Stances and stanzas
Words weaponry
Therapeutic tensions
Designated decree
Odes of oration
Verses verily victorious
Whimsical writes
Grandeur of glorious
© Stacy Lynn Stiles
Bro Billy Sunday preached that salvation
Was the key to avoiding damnation
In pulpits he'd sweat and shout
And fling his arms all about
As if fighting bees in his oration!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
In a Sunday wintry air
The pigeons, the sparrows
And the mocking birds
Without array
Congregated themselves
Outside the family house
Listening, intently
To the noonday oration
Of Her Majesty, the Queen
Whilst I, I quickly picked
The various colors and shapes
Of myself, my dignity
Shortly thereafter
She, fumingly, dropped them off
Through the guiltless window
Possibility given a voice
Opportunity and multiple choice
Everyone is equal and free
To put pen to page...just try and see.
Real and true to this art
You must be, from the start
Flowery verse or staccato prose
Oration, lyric, iambic, morose
Real emotion, your words must expose
As you write, as you share
Life, love, loss, or despair
Leave your soul on the page...if you dare.
WHEN SILENCE SPEAKS
There’s a role for quiet contemplation
No need for loud opinion or speeches
More is said without prepared oration
Sensing the depths that stillness reaches
And understanding that silence teaches
Confusion, if a peaceful state is broken
Yet hesitation is no more than a token
From loose lips, perhaps a secret leaks
Words are just words if left unspoken
One should listen when silence speaks
Sequestered from mundane oration
Until this spell from Earth’s rotation
Meanders from my frozen gaze.
Melting clouds in pastel plush,
Evanescent waning rays,
Recant my vision’s wanderlust.
Slivered shards of ruby hues,
Unflinching wisps of reddish blues,
Nuanced haze in wafting threads,
Supplanting twilight’s blushing gray.
Eventually dusk’s blanket spreads;
The trance is broke – I look away.
-28 Jun 2014-
(Rhyme aabcbc)
Crowned the queen of creativity: she is
Always adding aroma to art with alacrity,
Rhyming rhapsodies…and raising red roses.
Oh oasis of outstanding opera! you are
Leading a lively, lovely, lady-like life.
Brown… bold, bright and beautiful! She is my
Red-hot favorite: a rare gem in my roll of honor; always
Opening our minds to overwhelming oration.
Wisdom wanders in her wealthy wells... she
Never niggles at the novice in her noble nursery.
The afternoon outlined. The sunny strokes
of a samurai blade on her body
revealing things the eyes feign see.
Tempted, wounded, the virgin parchment floats
between her skin and satin cloak.
Artist; afternoon, craving company
draws her inside-out so innocently,
on purpose leaves the yolk indwelling.
The painter in the corner moans,
he jealous of the afternoons artly
sensual oration.
Improving skin, bare olive tones
of subtle pastel, the moment partly lost
to the constellations.