Short Promenades Poems
Short Promenades Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Promenades by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Promenades by length and keyword.
swirling ~ twirling
faster ~ faster
time promenades
look listen learn
beggars ~ thieves
trust YOURSELF
humanity
instinct or extinct?
Through turquoise houses
curtain nets a twitching
Ladies trousers wistful
maybe tomorrow a change
I am the breeze
cool as beaches
promenades are seen for miles
Painter
My life was painted
Long before I arrived
I follow the paint brush
Alone, left to surmise
If I belong in a painting
Or on a road to nowhere at all
Life is so black and white
Colors have faded away from eye sight
Along the promenades of loneliness
Were no able painter would stay
I follow my destiny, as I
Gracefully fade away
Loves promenades towards emptiness
longing is a void
darkness of a million universes
where mythical black holes
chant of timeless desires
Yearning for carnal eternity
where candles never die
Two of us
never met
oceans apart
gasping for affections
in different times
winds may have swept
this way or that
never seen
Wind and candle lie in death
so lost
in emptiness
Lavender calls
it's beauty relentless the purple pods
effervescent
the romantic flavor so common
so unveiling
it's sweet sunshine inspires the mind
calming vessage adorned
and aray of royal purple flower
promenades glistening
senses captivating nasals passage
sweet, sweet flowering our spirits that our soul devours
12/8/20
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr © 2020
Listen to poem:
Uncovering the earth, as the snow finally fades
Sunny days; bringing, aesthetically soothing jades
Towns spring to life, with congruent daily parades
Simply enjoying life, in its moments and decades;
Words following free; in poetically wild chardes
A deck of playing cards filled with hearts; and no spades
When the evening sets its sight the joy, it still never degrades
Fulfilling; is discovering; when happiness, promenades
Unlock your heart, ample gords/gourds played mellifluously across the acoustic line of tumble-down fields where each blade of wholesome grass, a gaslit fire of musically driven promenades, so reaching that one forgets to look, they look back to find a field of woe, a curtain of rain, a line of poetry beneath an oak tree, it withers and died in those hands a thousand times before it was written on a page, and I would look at you for a thousand years.