Short Pretention Poems
Short Pretention Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Pretention by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Pretention by length and keyword.
Pretention is a claim or an assertion
of a claim to or about something.
Use of affection to impress; ostentatiousness.
Maybe he had made another pretention;
When done was with much apprehension;
Rather obscure,
Not very sure,
And all of this did depend upon intention.
Jim Horn
A healing Heart will now depart to seek anew
the chance of start to make it right come
what may or might, but be well prepared if
you are smart! For you never know what Fate
bestows which can hit so hard with heavy
blows, lift you up, throw you down, or bless
you sweetly if it so chose...
Most if not always
my consequences rest
in lamentation of spirit.
End if not means,
that crime is a call break
of thought bearing geniuses
I guess, if not pretention
That I am a man.
That everything I bare is an ordeal.
And every ordeal is quite alarming,
Wither we may loss or won,
Is a drawback in His time.
It was always painful to remember the suicide
of a painter,
who was drawing the landscape
of hunger.
Polishing his art of pretention.
The time whistled past his window
without punctuation.
The terrain was tough, deepened by
requiem, the tears dried up
on the cheeks of chastity.
Script without drum and hue
of glowing eyes,
cracked lips
of us and our instruments of tragedy.
SATISH VERMA
The wait begins adorned with symbols
for shadow to fall
between hope and pretention.
The moon will talk
when the dew returns
and clouds are hiding.
He will come in a black cloak
for a final assault
with broken promises.
Is he untouchable?
You cannot embrace him?
Walks like a ghost between me and you.
Our past, open-eyed, the truth
happens on road
in crowd, in our home.
SATISH VERMA
Form:
The tears have washed my sins.
Taming the dead,
I start a vivisection
of myths.
I take an impromptu walk,
go inside my weaker self,
abandon the pretention
and come face to face with the fear.
No portrait, no symbol,
no map was needed.
I was going to open a locked attic
to liberate the imprisoned past.
O colossus,
O my golden bird,
my sun baked grief has ripened
in ruins of desires. I am free.
SATISH VERMA
Form:
A mob rapes a moon
under the blue sky.
Then parades her half-naked body
on the streets of clouds.
Arousal of anger
devours the mate
in a nocturnal rendezvous
with a sea horse;
cuts off the head
to shake out the frozen tears
from unweeping eyes.
Life stares face to face
with death, of a star.
A slow hesistant voice
opens the layers of silence
for seeking justice.
Truth weeps making no pretention.
SATISH VERMA
Form:
Splitting Hairs
David J Walker
If you only knew
How often
I do just that
Splitting hairs to enter
Another dimension
Leaving me both here
And there, driving the streets
Of abstract convention
Where traffic lights are blue
And the tomorrows are
No longer new and are known
For abstruse pretention
Everyone seems to know my name
When they think they see me in
This other form
And then I’m gone again
In the split of a thoughts
Distension
Mirror, mirror on the wall
in front of you I stand tall,
evergreen with virgin air,
confident without a care.
In prime of life and freshness,
in state of juvenescence.
I look at my reflection,
my body such perfection.
I'm a mirror in the hall,
tall as hung upon this wall,
show only what's true and fair
self-importance I don't share.
With this ego you possess
I don't see your youthfulness,
disrobing your pretension
reveals your true reflection.
Splitting Hairs
David J Walker
If you only knew
How often
I do just that
Splitting hairs to enter
Another dimension
Leaving me both here
And there, driving the streets
Of abstract convention
Where traffic lights are blue
And the tomorrows are
No longer new and are known
For abstruse pretention
Everyone seems to know my name
When they think they see me in
This other form
And then I’m gone again
In the split of a thoughts
Distension
I want to go to Dismaland!
I'll thcweem until I'm thick!
I have blisters on my fingers
From the endless futile click
There'll be secretaries on it
Pulling non-existent strings
There'll be rumours of a con
On social media and things
I want to go to Dismaland
And see the horrid stuff!
How come I can't buy tickets
And my money's not enough?
In the shadows Banksy chuckles
He's got the Art World in his hand
He has turned pretention on itself
As planned
by Gail