Short Predicts Poems
Short Predicts Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Predicts by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Predicts by length and keyword.
Full on apple tree
Sometimes predicts cold weather
Cutting out the worms
Rescuing the sweetest part
Delicious apple cobbler
Albatross
Albatross is a nice seabird,
He predicts when sea storm appears.
He doesn’t breathe a word
He promised the sea to keep for years.
In the forest and mountain mist
Animals leave a positive imprint
As nature predicts
Animals permit
Variations but allow little to infringe
The Blue Jays home opener is April 8th
Weatherman's predicts snow, hate... hate... hate
Not civilized for sure
Outlook's damn poor
The world's topsy turvy, sure am irate
Apple blossoms
Dainty
Delicate, yet hardy
A welcome tender spring fragrance
A testament to a glorious plan
Instilling hope, and beginnings
A seasonal delight
Predicts sweet fruit
Apple blossoms
personality change -me?
over the next six to twelve months
some major decision making
a change of home setting, work, or family???
do all these things ring true??
or do we hope to live out
what our fortune predicts??
Perpetually
stars intermingle
with the universe
creation deathless
like the wide blue sea.
Cosmic order
continuous
in harmony
alone with God
The prophet
predicts man
in ‘Star ships’
invades
God’s own
Help!
© Harry J Horsman 2010
A global index,
strive to intermix
with the universe
and it’s creator,
find a point of view
Cosmic order
inspired journey
discovering
questions of faith
Doomsayers
predicts man
in ‘Star ships’
invades
God’s own
Help!
© Harry J Horsman 2019
The soothsayer slowly moved her hand over the crystal ball.
I predict a death, she told the man.
I am sorry, but it might be your death.
This surprised his wife, and horrified his daughter.
They were astounded and shocked by this news.
Which is a bit odd
Since he is 91.
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
One step forwards two steps back
Life deals me a king it turns to a jack
Seems since i was born i was destined to fail
Im the consumate dog chasing its tail
But ill plod on and do it by the letter
The law of averages predicts its got to get better......hasnt it ?
On your first arrival to the world, you shine
No time predicts, the hour glass gazes
Spinning the golden wheels
Sunflowers dancing in the fields
Your rays penetrating the darkest of corners
Quenching every sorrowful soul
Your colors dancing in old and new, always keeping in wonder
I cannot see
the future,
be it bleak or beautiful,
it's lost deep in the stars
of eternity......
earth cannot see into it's vastness,
the geologists warn,
the palm reader predicts,
duo lukewarm
authorities.
And the foretelling is absorbed
through a soft sponge of completeness.
sky predicts all things
re-affirms approaching light~
reader of the stars
wise owl perceives much
velvet visions manifest~
sees in crystal ball
woman of your dreams
royal regal demeanor~
a princess no doubt
someone just like me
your fantasy real enough~
steps into your life
In Punxsutawney, a cute little feller
is a slick, and precocious foreteller
Phil predicts with his nose
But the tip of it froze!
He used an icepick to clear out his smeller!!"
______________________________
Punxsutawney Phil Contest: 1/19/15
Sponsored by John Lawless
Wettened by the mornings dew
Closely spaced where rows of roses grew
Footprints stained the cobblestone
Where my love and I had walked, alone
—Charles Messina
Roses pink as my love’s lips
The remainder of the day predicts
Scented overtones of life
Blue moon will ask Claire to be my wife
She said she would have loved me,
did she know where life was taking me.
But what is there to know?,
if not allow love to flow,
and avoid material flaws.
Love predicts no feature,
love knows no status,
love just happen,
well, that's if its there at all.
There is no excuse,
for not loving,
you just were not loving.
The weatherman predicts
this April will be wet.
I thought I'd buy a mac
and pair of welly boots.
(I put my sandals back).
The weatherman predicts
a lot of rain ahead.
It's sounding pretty stark -
no sun at all this month.
I need to build an ark...
* mac - raincoat
written 15th April for Andrea's April Showers contest
George Floyd RIP
A man on the floor
A boot on his neck
The foot of the law
Serve and protect
Life is snuffed out
A family will mourn
Creating a riot
A new victim's born
When will it stop?
Where is the end?
Killed by the men
Employed to defend
The colour of skin
Predicts your fate
Take off your foot
Before it’s too late
When, as I inhabit the face of cause,
a sterile forerunner would remove
the faith that I would know
as mark of gesterous life -
Consider once, the time in hand
that cores the low.
As misery, the sceance of attention
incites or regulates thee at my haste -
So passing life,
in form of apprehension,
predicts or fazes not
. .. . . the store of waste!
Neither Punxsutawney Phil today
Nor Staten Island Chuck
Saw their shadows when emerging,
Which to many is good luck.
It predicts a shorter winter
And an entryway to spring,
Though there's skepticism surely
When a groundhog is the king.
Still, we hark to their predictions,
Causing many to rejoice.
Yet, the almanac, to me, would be
The harbinger of choice.
on the outside, all looks fine
no one sees the things I hide
walled off deep within my heart
is a darkness set apart
I know all that I have done
buried baggage that would stun
would you think the same of me?
undertow sweeps inside my sea
moon predicts the sudden swells
washing sands with seaweed smell
once again, my beach is smooth
not at all to do with you
Forecast predicts one hundred degrees ten days in a row, without a wink.
I fed the birds this morning and watered thirsty flowers from my kitchen sink.
Filled two rather large child-sized wading pools completely to the brink.
For all woodland creatures who are too desperately thirsty to even think.
Inspired by my husband who saw a baby fox trying to get a drink.
I woke up this morning in the same bed again.
Like the day before that, and the day before that.
I haven’t seen the sun rise through another window
Since this became my chosen habitat.
It doesn’t matter what the rodent predicts.
I expect no vernal gifts, no sun-kissed fields of clover.
There isn’t any short cut to revival,
Just six more lonely weeks of starting over.
events precipitated
creating a ripple
causing space to sigh
discord replaced harmony
a fissure appeared
requiring healing
specious reasoning
presented by eristic ego
stifled the throb of love
the drama being enacted
impacted not the mindful monk
who never predicts outcomes
who can tell if it is time
to gentle the swaying pendulum
the hermit has no preference