Short Pontificate Poems
Short Pontificate Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Pontificate by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Pontificate by length and keyword.
Golly gee how did I ever
Receive such a gift of
Old age to pontificate
Wisely winding through
Interests as varied and
New as a
Grand baby who
Only
Loves a
Dear me.
Perfect prose or pantoum’s ...
Perhaps these styles are not for me!
Poems needn’t be
Professionally produced
Petty poets pontificate!
Personally I prefer
Playfully penned poop
Do you know
many things
understanding
not one
Portending
your weakness
pretense
on the run
The trash bin
of knowledge
refills
left unchecked
Pontificate
dirges
spout off
— to infect
(The New Room: July, 2024)
Who adjourns me
in this backlight story
Who will call the wolf
to dance in her captivity ?
Willow wisp dispensing hollowness
espied on fields of grey
The World's a stage
disembark at your own peril
Pontificate
your ardour
anoints us well
Poets often pontificate
In their particular poems
By punching words into
Pre-determined form
Plying on rhyming
Placing their phrases
In perfect presentation
With proper punctuation
Perhaps to receive
A few platitudes
Possibly some praise
For its perfection
An empty voice with naught to say,
a barrel hollow born
To spout and spew, pontificate,
a hairless sheep forlorn
With lines recopied, often stole,
released, his name to bear
A charlatan of spoken verse
—embezzled words to share
(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2020)
Please pontificate a little louder
I can already tell what dullards you think we are the child said.
Pleased, the puffed up politician began barking even more loudly.
Louder! The child yelled. LOUDER!
His voice went us six octaves.
Obviously a non-reader, another child said
We hillbillies laughed.
In the street I found you
oblong pebble
Where did you hail from
an outcrop or some bizarre barrier reef
I chalk on you
all the lost and lonely
I love you like Jah
I cannot bare any flowers in my seed bed
I lay you in the mud
goodbye zinc and potassium
Pontificate the London Waters
when I'm brewing a cuppa
An old woman holds bloodied hands to her face
A child cries in the rubble
A mother rocks her mangled child
Children cling to the nothingness of fear
Assassins congratulate each other
Dancing beneath bloodied “flags”
Well-dressed politicians pontificate
Photographers “capture” the moment
Knowing – “there are no rules of war”
Poppin jays flies
on Neon lights
Hanker don't whisper !
As the Mighty Oak sways
The lavee squirms forward
running obtuse
The dancers pontificate thought
lancing the proverbial boil
As an afterthought
The pied pipers never pay
The rotten beams surrender
pulsating dead energy
beyond the fold of avarice
Tis the season of Arbeit
48.
The lingering halt of half burnt day.
Always the back of the throat tingles
When you are caught at attention.
I want to hide behind real smiles
With sincere silk promises.
I understand love,
I burn with it.
Hey I sit back and pontificate enough
Filled with the heart stuff
Now it should be hard to fantasize
But I shouldn’t isn’t easy.
In fact I didn’t.
A blessed soul has won a role, The Prince of Peace,
Of noble birth, a novice born a blue-blood,
Pontificate average those brevities,
Stemmed full of thorns wrangled beneath his rosebud.
Won The Papal States, Mona Lisa smiled, lost,
His tenure was mired in doubts--parts that he crossed,
A scorned tag as unfortunate of the popes,
A Florentine, a Medici, useless hopes.
Work from home, for all I care
May I do the same, if that's fair?
The new order demands connectivity
The old required face to face objectivity
Efficiency, I seek to communicate
Don't ever pontificate
I am in a deep state
A state of knowing your unbelieving fate
I am at risk of losing faith in Him alone
Becoming of the ingrates, a clone
This is a time to grow some more
Allowing the word to come to the fore
It's eight
After so much learning and healing in seven
Now is the time to elevate
So go and create
Something beautiful and great
Please don't procrastinate.
Now is the time to illustrate
Then go demonstrate
Your gifts and worth are yours to authenticate
So do not pontificate
They're all yours in eight
By all means, move on them and please do not negate
A symbol of infinity I see
A road of endless possibility
Entrapping the magic,
philosophers moan
Theory after theory,
no meat on the bone
They label and mark,
their didactics retooled
Force feeding their ramble
to dilettante-fools
And when in the end
they are then proven wrong
They slink back to their hollows,
where the vanquished now throng
But a new tier of ‘masters’
has taken their place
To lecture and spiel
—and pontificate
(Baldwin School: March, 2021)
So, what comes to mind
When you hear the word “God”?
A word that you find
Most exceedingly odd?
Some make excuses
Or pontificate.
Some prefer retreat
To the sanctum of fate.
To some, it’s just foolishness
For others, God’s great.
Some find absurdity,
Others rage, hate.
If you’re right, all else pales,
If you’re wrong, not too late.
So what thought comes next
When God enters your mind?
The most important thing
About you, you will find.
What is poetry to me
A chance and opportunity
To break out and break free
From the gilded cage
Imprisoning me
To dream of stars
And cosmic themes
To pontificate on nature
And the wonder it gives
To rant to rage about social things
And make a stand environmentally
To speak of love straight from the heart
To weave words of spiritual sparks
To create verses hoping to paint a masterpiece
This is what poetry means to me.
hoardings of shops on the isle of ridiculousness
the feral pigeons pontificate
the leaking roof of the civic theatre stays
you've seen better days
you've blundered into desperation
bankrupted twice
and now you're turning the middle
of town into millionaires row
ill afforded by the minions
even our local Market is shrinking
an ebb tide of the municipality
Westfield as vexing as a fox in chase
The Central library feels lobotomised
is it part privatised?
Oh, to preach, to pontificate
Seize the “bully” pulpit
Bask in the reverberations
Of your own voice
Mock the sanctity of silence
To expound on the simplicity
Of the impossibly attainable
Berate the questioners
Expound on humility
In stained glass superiority
To infiltrate the openness
Of childlike minds
Inculcate the innocence
With tainted seed
Oh, rave on
You echo-chambered ego
Your bellicose denials
Deny their truth
John G. Lawless
©6/27/2023
There Is Quite A Bit Of Beauty In The Day.
Although Many Do Not see It.
Many Only see the Negative or the Negatives.
It is such a pitiful pity to try to pontificate with Negative people.
And Unfortunately One encounters many of them throughout the Day.
But since it is a known and accepted fact
That the most important thing in life is one's happiness.
Thus it follows that it is very integral that we do everything and anything we can
To strive hard to ensure that we enjoy each day.
They perhaps exported it so much,
Little’s left for them to vow or vouch—
A tragic bit of truth
For a country past youth,
Count on them still to kiss back old touch.
___________________________________
Tongue-in-cheek |13.01.2021|
Topic: humour, happenings
Poet’s note: USA, the self-appointed global exporters of democracy was on the verge of civil war. It has been always too ready to pontificate the world and to export democratic sermons. It is time they learn, charity begins at home.