Short Pinpricks Poems

stars shining brightly
diamonds in the dark night sky
small pinpricks of life...

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The stars, all a-twinkle and bright,
Said, "We're best at the dark, starry night!"
But the sun, with a smirk,
Said, "When day breaks to work,
You're just tiny pinpricks of light!"

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as day slips into even
and sun draped winds
now evoke a midnight glove
where kissed dew
turns pirouette
on rosened cheek
air is took and chosen
Universal pinpricks
seem to lead the way
nigh time sifts
in shadows greys...

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There were tiny clouds
in the bathroom. I could see
the glimmers from a universe
of air and bubbles, 
inside my reach,
pinpricks in the
transparent air.
I dream I am so small
I can live my life
of travel and romance
on a pinprick planet
floating over a bathtub....

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The Dark is not, through and through
Evil personified.
Owl's pinpricks of good intent
Shine through, soft moon-eyed.

And for what Day, outfaced, is
Too fiercely intrusive
More any ghoulish horror
Eats away at the nerves
Does it, for what such preserves
A safe refuge give....

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Azure is the sky, dyeing 
A shade darker beyond twilight
From cold embrace of heaven
Star falls, darkness calls.
Embers of sky, dance.
Deep the shifting hues,
A burn of spectrums rays,
Horizon a fire. 
Dyeing in cool mists
Shimmer pinpricks 
Alight in the firmament
Deep past midnight…...

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Here come a billion trillion pinpricks,
Earthbound in a headlong plummet,
Off my tiny window each bead flicks,
With the sparkle of a liquid comet. 

Up at the pouring sky I take a peep,
And scan a city that’s much too wet,
Soon I'm lying in my king-sized bed,
By sounds of rain I'm lulled to sleep....

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you can enjoy the delicacy of a rose without touching it
enjoy it without embracing it
knowing it is perceived as gentle, kind, forgiving
but it’s thorns are always going to be there
always going to be just as sharp
pinpricks turned to razor blades if you get too close
you can enjoy the rose from a distance, 
but don’t you dare get too close again...

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Blues that seem destined for the day
swirl into maroons of brown and marooned greys
Moons haloed face catches itself on the edges
of blackened cloud turning gossamer in its hints
Pinpricks of stars sway in diminishing concerns
Whispers of breeze tipped with a promise of cold yet to come
The tendrils of skeletal trees reaching skyward
trying to pull the night closer
Just a bit...

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Healing is nowhere in sight
Echoes of laughter reverberate through an empty chamber
Airtight and sheltered
Reaching your essence 
Tearing violently through your mind like eternal pinpricks
Beyond comprehension. The pain
Ricocheting memories feed the seemingly endless cycle
Of why for’s and how come?
Kneeling before the King of the damned
Each broken beat secures the next 
Never fully realizing an end....

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So what if there are a million stars
Littering the night sky's darkness?
So what if their colour varies,
Their distance, or their brightness?

They are lovely, yes, that's true
But special they will never be.
They're but small pinpricks of light
And they will be nothing more to me,

Because none of them can compare
To your wonderful, stellar glimmer.
I have you, my darling Starshine
So no other will ever matter....

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Pretty pink and purple poppies
 perfume peaceful pastures and
 prance into picturesque poses.
 Proud patterns in pale light 
paint playful pictures
 in dust particles like
 pinpricks of precise punctuation. 
Promises are preached, pondered, prayed for 
and proven in this patient pastime.
 Pushed, pulled, put and pardoned
 by a precious and pure performance
 in her powerful presence...
preserving this preceived poetry....

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The clock strikes nine. Ink fills the night sky, until the silvery orb in the heavens is the only source of light. 
The clock strikes twelve. Tiny pinpricks of light dot the raven-dark heavens. They shine brightly; as if each was 
trying to outdo the last. I sit. And stare. And wonder. The clock strikes three. I shift and pick up my 
homework. The assignment is a three page essay, due today. Should I do it? Nah... I toss it aside and resume 
my staring of the sky....

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Blue the hue 
Of due and azure two
Of cool spring
And intricate things
Crystal, precise
A shade even darker than the values of Night.
Upon and creeps 
Thin, crimson, ginger, golden 
Fine wire along horizons edge
The birth of the infinite one 
End of the dyeing immaculate sun
The rise of the golden age
Fall the shimmering pinpricks of stardust
The end of the deep vast void 
Horizon a fire 
A line the currents in the firmament
Well past the darkest of midnights…...

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Leaves, with crinkled edges, 
are little paper thin boats.

Trees hulking have specters' arms. 
They clasp the snowball in the sky. 

Silver pinpricks are cast above the wilderness. 
They pierce the tar colors that ink the night. 

Porches watch with ginger squares. 
Man-made light view the stroller, 

as she strides quickly within Olive shadows. 
A heavy, wise mien is seen through the wooden frames.

She sits, she is waiting as Winter beckons 
the soulful whispering of Autumn....

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