Short Prologue Poems
Short Prologue Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Prologue by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Prologue by length and keyword.
one night a fire broke out
in my dreamland
the stars that i glued to the ceiling
they all fell down
after burning like a comet
and crashing onto me like a weight i must carry
Tap, tap, clickety-clack
Thoughts vigilantly stamped
Trademark of transcription
Technology's prologue
Twain's famous "Tom Sawyer"
Time etched black and white scene
Tinted with grandpa's dust
4-27-2021
daisy summer and innocence
as the sweat glistens on the skin
when i'm cycling down the street
running with the pace of wind
spread my wings like a parachute
on a summer afternoon
music in my ears as i passes by the sea shore
as the flowers dances near the coast
Dearest Vicar –
As a poet’s lines:
It is divinity proper!
Onions figure
In our everlasting divinings:
Her white ashes
Of our burn-fire
And the dew of dawn’s tears
Still coax the rainbow
To no avail
Her white ashes
Splashing wet-dusts of dark days:
Cocks crow in vain?
Form:
What grand overture preceeds death
When the past is prologue to life
What omnipotent power's breath
Gives life to our struggle and strife
Ask who will come to our defense
As we battle against the odds
What will sustain our common sense
When we're the folly of our gods
Make a bold start
With easy feel;
Let steady heart
Fling love that heals.
Let mind reveal
A pattern here;
Feel what you feel
With thought sincere.
Joy dwells with peace
If you but see;
Zest knows with ease
Truth and beauty.
Live love that grows
In time, it shows.
Leon Enriquez
30 July 2014
Singapore
SILHOUETTE (1/23) — PROLOGUE
Dark silhouette
Solitary glimpses;
Mystic moments
~~~~~
Word writes
Feel firm cite
Take a bite
See the light
Bring new sight
Cheer fits
Calm crisp wit
In fond bits
Learn to know
Glimpse of flow
~~~~~~~~~
Leon Enriquez
08 January 2021
Singapore
Stand by at the proper moment.
Your shattered heart will be mended
We will address every one of your issues.
And your concerns.
The poise will modify the dread.
You were desperate for this.
To move to the prologue that follows.
Within the bounds of your being.
Written: March 23, 2022
voices buried deep in the ground
and ashes sprinkled into the river,
i'm suffering from a melancholic fever
where my day appears gloomy and night midnight blue
in the shade of moonlight obscured by fog
the ghosts of the dead and almost forgotten,
they all comes back to life,
to haunt and live in the colour of november
Beyond treetops shines evening light.
Leaves glow and shimmer at sundown.
A perfect prologue to the night.
Before the moon glows bright and round.
Muted orange, a pinkish sight.
Sets the stage for nights subtle sound.
Where silence hears the crickets call
And beauty speaks to one and all.
Ó November 17, 2011
Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen
A play was enacted
with a drum beating prologue,
evaporated into thin air
after some acts.
Enacting and evaporating
time and again.
Seeds were sown
but the fields remained barren.
Seeds are sown
yet the fields stay barren.
Time gone never returned
but it returns steps backward
from the starting point
everytime it matches.
June 20 2016
A man I knew once,
A man I knew as friend.
Within his indenture he turned on us,
Fed up, we no longer could contend.
A man who asked so much from us,
Our support, so little we lend.
We weren’t there when he called on us,
We weren’t there to help him mend.
Left with guilt as vile as puss,
For we were negligent and dilatory in his sickened end.
04/20/13
Freshly brewed fog and a fall rain,
the mist could transform to a beast;
Winds might swirl becoming a frog
pulsing so loud inside your throat;
You’ll second guess and feel insane
when elevated fears are greased;
Hit that plot twist with no prologue
left rolling in those tales remote;
Bring that quill back to analog,
tranquilize this poet’s stained note.
Somewhere in the fog is Chaucer's prologue
to those Canterberry tales.
Ms. Layton I must thank for storing it
in my memory bank which of late seems
to have paled.
No offense to Mr. Chaucer but it's way past
time to toss her before this old brain is derailed.
For some day soon I may stutter with so much
extra brain clutter but Chaucer's prologue
it seems I have nailed.
hold the rope tight, never let go of a safe hand
the journey ahead is far too brutal to make sense
what once seemed fated, shall shatter one's hopes
the idea of love was born from a poet's thought
lover's rose from the ashes to finish their lovelorn stories
heart wrapped in barbed wire yet still beating-
for the one who will break my heart
uncover new truths in each arc
Silent getaway
Cold rain falls on the cover of life-death
Ice in the soul froze letters on startup
We departure silently in a memory route
The muse wounds in a last verse
Pages and tears and letters falling like autumn leaf
Sweet torture kisses of separation and rain and pain
It was summer in return there had tears and songs
The book is wet in a prologue the muse dies
For unspoken answers,
there was always the-
question, why hawks
were needing the peace ?
Tied to innate fringes,
I want an explicit display.
The prologue was very
misleading.
War was inside and
outside. Were you a hobbes-
ian ? I am not afraid
of death.
Reacted so violently.
The colored shirts should be
taken off. Let us see
the scars !
Satish Verma
That vertical sink
loaded with cargo
fraught,
with pools of blackened blood
burned me.
I never arrived
at a moot prologue
for the journey of dead.
The sun turned away
in a doubt
under a smoked trance of helplessness.
Perhaps it was true of a murder
in serene weather
when the astrologia was opposite.
The charred landscape
dithered about the lilies.
Will they come back ?
Satish Verma
Form:
That vertical sink
loaded with cargo
fraught,
with pools of blackened blood
burned me.
I never arrived
at a moot prologue
for the journey of dead.
The sun turned away
in a doubt
under a smoked trance of helplessness.
Perhaps it was true of a murder
in serene weather
when the astrologia was opposite.
The charred landscape
dithered about the lilies.
Will they come back ?
Satish Verma
Form:
Juice jumpy joy
Thrill tasty toy
Prime profound ploy
Ample apt ask
Touch tricky task
Bright blessings bask
Stray sensuous scent
Prize primal pent
Daze dizzy dent
Aspire arms aid
Pique prologue paid
Style simply said
Dance dazzling dream
Succinct sure streams
Rich rustic reams
Drop dimples deep
Loud laughter leaps
Snoring sinks sleep
Leon Enriquez
31 August 2017
Singapore
Open me up and take a read.
My cover is not all of me.
Don’t judge me because of it.
There’s the table of contents,
The prologue and chapters.
Let’s not forget the epilogue.
My chapters are one of a kind.
Within them, you will find joy,
sadness, and so much more.
You may even see a bit of you,
Because we all connected, by
way of the human experience.
So open me and take a read.
Alexis Y.
01/13/2021
Time blows and turns over
the pages of mylife.
Sometime revealing the prologue
and sometime the epilogue.
Hands write and leave their imprints.
the blotch, the unflinching courage,
dejection,the forlon hope, ..........
all remain embedded in my soul.
Seasons arrive and vanish
bestowing sometime a spring flower
and sometime dry autumnal foliage.
I'm a fossil
caged in my own world.
I only wait and behold as
time writes my fate.
Sore Ankle
impatiently edging past my husband
the lid - lifts off - from the pot
microwave still ajar
He Cares
not in mood to hear capitulation
at my ankle’s screaming pittance
I harden, he softens
Introspect
his kindness and care remove my black ring
my mood slowly turning blue
not unlike my ankle
Prologue
microwave does not throw out dirty looks
nor does it knock out the light
that fills room with gladness