Short Perfecting Poems
Short Perfecting Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Perfecting by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Perfecting by length and keyword.
perfecting
the waiting game
is feeling each flicker
of heart lotus blossoming
whilst resting seeking
and anticipating
by vaporising
02-June-2023
+++++++++++++++++ Task at hand
Some are hardworkers
perfecting their craft Haiku
five seven five why
GINSU-KNIFE EASTPORT , MAINE USA
Why does psychopath start with a “p”
It's a waste of a letter like the “k” in knee
Should have noticed
Being a linguist
English needs perfecting I'm sure you'll agree
October vamp was practicing her drama
Reading a book given to her by her mama
Perfecting her laugh, her giggles and her cries.
Her black cat gave her a weary look by crossing his eyes.
Parents play party
games
Perfecting playful
parts
Children cherish
chocolate
Soft savory sweet
tarts
Fun for all
forgotten
As adults go away
Leaving little lambs
alone
Protecting party
play
Christmas eve candy song in strength family bonds in loves perfecting
zealous yokefellow
xenolith with vitality
Unseen the Spirit resides quietly
perfecting obedient natures,
ministering love, kindness, joy, insight,
honing gentleness,
faithfully encouraging disciples,
convicting breath abides.
November 6, 2021
Percy Paul's prize in perks, cherry picks.
Pay raise is a ploughmen's prayer,
perfecting penchants, he predicts,
polling people from Pingdu to Pierre.
P. Paul's plan's plain - probabilistics.
December 24, 2020
contest: Tongue Twister Challenge
sponsor: Joe Sandler
HUMAN FOIBLES
nature... her time spent
perfecting life's perfections
man in denial
~
human life upsets
natures equilibrium
decimating... why...
~
nature screams aloud...
at the human race... hear her...
she will right our wrongs
~~~~~*~~~~~
You are only as good, as the eyes being seen with.
Don't accept anything less, than seen being perfect.
A blind man once saw, light thru darkness.
He was lead by heart and not by objects.
He felt his way to, not with his hands.
With God sending his love
Perfecting this blind man.
When I was younger, I would constantly proofread my suicide letter.
God forbid the last thing I be remembered by be an incorrectly used comma.
These days, I write poetry that merely dance around the subject.
It's worrisome to others, but I personally prefer this art to perfecting a last goodbye.
Dancing in the mirror
My dancing gets better with vodka, wine, or beer
I’m driven into a dancing mania by music of superior sound
When no one’s around
Perfecting my savvy dance style
Gliding back and forth across the tile
Moving my feet
In time with the beat
Waving my hands in the air
And shaking my derriere
Awaiting tomorrow, so patiently still
Placating anxiety built up inside
Debating what outfit I need to prepare
Berating my fears as I push them aside
Perfecting my hair as I walk in the door
Expecting attraction, but something's askew
Reflecting on why the romance disappeared
Respecting our mutual friendship anew
As we decided on my fate for the week.
Soon I would be back, sad and meek.
And we would try another combination.
Which I would try with hesitation.
But this time has no chance of lasting.
These are the olden days that are passing.
For the future is strong.
Just like my perception for now is wrong.
Me and poetry are happily married
The bond we carried
Took time, nothing was hurried
Critics we slowly buried
First I made a simple draft
And started perfecting my craft
To build this castle
I needed more than muscle
It takes a psychological mindset
And the determination to hustle
Now me and success often tussle
This love, in living with
For its lesson
Pains through which patient understanding
Is demanding
Ponder; even preen; but passed can be
Through our union!
There's another. For this
Some, till death, wait!
That yond its perfecting through earthmen
Soul's, in Heaven.
Till then mood-raised by its dream. A true!
Eternal fate!
ROYALTY: VELENTINO PHIRI our Grandfather
From a place of refuge he trekked
to the peripheral of the throne
rightfully his
"Moses on the verge of Canaan..."
Endowed with a rare talent
potent of perfecting the art
that built pyramids in days ancient
A mighty man...
Though not enthroned
A KING he was...ruler of our people...
True as it was
He still is....ROYALTY!
Shimmering art seeing part
Glistening gold gilding bold
Painting colours perfecting ours
Tumbling steeple rumbling people
Twinkling touch sprinkling much
Bustling street hustling feet
Chattering fast scattering past
Shouting loud standing proud
Turning new burning few
Crying tears denying fears
Skipping high dipping sigh
Playing gnats straying rats
The midnight bliss of a loner’s heart,
Circulates and illuminates like the crescent moon,
His cries instruments, violently strummed by angels
Creating and perfecting the sound of thunder
His dreams clouds raining down like
Tears, on his dirt ridden face
Without a trace his emotions
Dissipates like the voice of the woman
A woman who once whispered
I love ……..
Prayer soothes, sweetens and sanctifies the believer – quote by poet
Pleasant thoughts brightening
Praises showering hope
Promising joy in love
Power within the heart
Playing light and laughter
Pulsating breaths of grace
Perfecting souls with faith
Pleiades P Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Kim Merryman
April 8, 2021
January
January pouts like a petulant child,
Crying with rain and dreary.
“Why is fun out of favor now?
I wished for more attention and approval,
A relief from fury and fever pitch of perfecting,
A time to revive and renew, and now
Rest and relief have cunningly come, and yet
Suddenly, hollowness and longing,
Not for the flashy and flamboyant past,
But for the manger.
Smile at her for all the worth
your shining light's projecting.
Her million miles from every land;
where hopes go on reflecting.
Her light returning to your eyes
with every thought sorecting.
As every feeling ever felt
comes back to you connecting.
Her love's inflation moving on
for dreams more on perfecting.
As things gone round come back around
to fold for your prospecting.
Lithospherical clunking, zest of our navel
Tumultuous melt, fizz ridden obliquitous
Inestimably stemming, trunking, branching
Exaspergrasping for equichosis, ecliptic apotheosis
We shimmer and charade as though dwelt in strobe
Inscribing the vitroglyph, micro slinks to macro
Then back again
I sit lotus, perfecting the interlocking polygonoids of this scape
I resonate and learn over a new sheaf
A Palm Map.
He's found another heart to devour.
Reciting the perfect words, perfecting gentle mannerisms.
Cleverly burrowing his way in.
Feeding off the shadows of weakness.
Eating the beat of the flesh.
Making its way into the center.
Seducing embers deep within its heart cage.
Then licking it into pieces.
He carries no oxygen,
only the soil of past conquests.
He's your latest heartworm,
your sticky rosary of death.
At three in the morning, I lie
awake staring out my window.
Hundreds of fireflies illuminate
the sapphire darkness of night.
Tiny blinking beacons, they
guide my thoughts outward,
away from the turbulence of
sleeplessness.
I marvel at God's ingenuity
and picture Edison (inspired
by nature) perfecting the first
practical light bulb.
Having not the inner workings
of genius, I drift off to sleep.