Short Pin Poems
Short Pin Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Pin by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Pin by length and keyword.
home or in rome
you carry on
staying touch
one you love much
you write you tyde
if your able
its a
PIN AND A TABLE
I stand in the darkness with just a pin light run darkness run while I shine
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr © 2020
Listen for joy in the distance. Silence is the ultimate prayer. Salvation comes with persistence; Resistance will always be there...
Sometimes it's time to pull the pin,
not to make a din,
but to abide, let it slide,
and sit on the fence
watching the tide come in.
A black velvet pin cushion
and a luminous pearl orb
hanging high in the sky
on a warm summers night
in July.
Peter Dome.Copyright.2012.
Persuade by time
Intuitions run blind
Neon driven dreams
Dandelion sew seams
Recognize the breeze
Opal shaped moon
Pesuaded bloom
?
when there is wind
i grim
my faces like stone
you can see my bones
with hat i do this and that
so my head won't bend
pen down
with a
HAT PIN
Form:
put it all down
now that you found
the truth
tell our youth
get them back on track
its a fact
you can win over sin
and
CHANGE THE WORLD WITH A PIN
Form:
as you walk alone
talking on the phone
or you stone
and it blows
don't fold
just have that grim
pull hair from the wind
make sure you have a
HAIR PIN
a trickling tear
hummingbird levitating
the falling of snow
Date written and posted: 10/18/2018
unashamedly
she flirts with the moon
skinny dipping
----------------------------
Short Form Contest
Sponsor: Andrea Dietrich
Placed 1st
they love style
its travel for miles
its like a show
as they walk and go
some have a wide grim
when there s a strong wind
they hats pull in
its the
LADY HATS AND PINS
~hope is found in darkness of the mind and heart
open up spiritual eyes a pin drop releases inner spark
1/24/22
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2022©
When the mind grabs and holds,
slams and finally pins down
an elusive poetic idea
on the judo mat of
the written word,
the soul leaps
with effusive
yet quiet
joy!
Vargas pin up girls of the thirties
intrigued us, delighted us, incited us
then along came Barbie, reinforcing
that women are beautiful,
almost as delightful as the automobiles they sell
Writing with a pin,
I know it is wrong.
Writing with a pin,
Blood is being drawn.
Writing with a pin,
My skin's burning and searing.
Writing with a pin,
It's wrong, but it has a satisfying feeling.
On guard both day and night, millions of soldiers with sharpen spears
By birth, their sworn duty to their Queen
The rose of the desert, the cactus flower
Form:
Your old sleek black hair-pin is still with me, mother,
I've treasured it greater than a yellow sapphire;
It collects in me, memories of plaits and knot,
And the roses I'd graced with dedication lot...
1 July 2021
Balls At a Bowling Pin
A big leaguer he had always been;
Liked throwing balls at a bowling pin;
Which game played can be confusing,
Whether you are winning or losing;
Will neither play either game again.
Jim Horn
Pin drop silence
Maybe am tone deaf
They have no licence
Causing me more grief
My cup, my bag's full
Couldn't give a hoot
O'er my eyes wool to pull
Adjusting my suit
Waxing hot and cold
Eloquent then mute
They join the fold
Down the ol route
Of a Pin Cushion Heart
Corroded tear ducts,
crystallized tears,
and estranged crying,
have left
a pin cushion heart
that no longer bleeds
memories of hurt.
The space left
with your leaving
still remains
but need not be filled:
I will always
have known you
and love you still.
Swirl me, twirl me, spin me ‘round
My eyes are covered, subject not found.
Direct me here, then block me there
Smiles and snickers; won’t give a care.
Hates me, baits me, friend or foe
I stop to listen but never know.
Frizzy, dizzy, can’t find the beast
Removing blind, tail’s pinned on me!
Success is drawing blood.
Follow in my tracks.
There's no rush.
Im not missing.
Just off the straight and narrow.
Open to facilitate.
Steadfast to invigorate.
There are drawbacks
But I take the plunge.
Time passed as pastime.
Days blend differently.
Its not my daily grind.
But it helps to get by.
New Born
By Frank Daub
Putting up the wash – Again
one wooden clothes pin gripped
tightly
in her lips. On toe-tips; blonde hair wind-whipped
dangling in her eyes.
The sun an apricot surprise
on the back of her legs.
All busy hanging clothes
and
Watching in the yard to see the baby lulling in the doze
Of May.
My perennial loving Guard.
A crystal-pin prick at the beginning.
A monumental vagueness at the end.
The art of carving peace seems quite lost again.
In between granite slabs-a tangle of black tragedies.
Tiny clusters of downy light upon a peaceful being.
The selfishness of flesh drifting atop the brine.
In an endless maze of the triggered mind.
Where blue devils tap dance so raggedly upon God time.