Short Prototype Poems
Short Prototype Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Prototype by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Prototype by length and keyword.
Any schoolgirl in Afghanistan
Makes a target for the Taliban
God gave Eve a brain
But failed to explain
That a brain will backfire in a man!
Who am I
but a prototype of my Creator
He breathed His life
into my being
Listen to the breath
in my voice
It will tell you who I am
a finished product of my Creator
Behold the sun
and all its authority,
great manufacture
of God
behold God’s man
and all his impurity
prototype written on
fluid stone – the earth,
its belly of churning,
belching~ dis-pleasured
groan….
At peace, its calm
Like a cool summer day
Subsides the stereotype
At peril, a fire bomb
Don’t want to stay
With photos of a prototype
Kill those who kill me
And stop the hand of time.
Why must you kill,
What you hate.
OCCASIONAL HIGHLIGHTS-:-
spatial
values
establish
uncomprehending
indifference
so VAGUELY ENVISAGED
pin-pointing
precious
insights
threaded
effusively
in ELOQUENT METAPHORS
located
engagingly
special
presentable
prototype
Billy use to drive a Little Willie
through roads of Bovington being silly
fillies he did concerted
didn’t see combat, but flirted
used a camouflage glove for willy
12/13/2016
Little Willie was a prototype in the development of the British Mark I tank.
today displayed at the The Tank Museum at Bovington
Linsay Rd, Bovington, Wareham BH20 6JG, UK
Atomic blue
O’ clock
Polyhedral bubble multiplication
Non-organic, viral blob
Imprecise labyrinth structure waves
Transversal jump into flesh
Devouring verbal traits
Thunderstorm restructuration
Polygonal invasion sucks chemistry dry
Suppress animal kingdom psyche
Urban complexity montage
Beeps over beats
Heatless synthetic lines
Vitality through codes
Radical being prototype
Complete
Infertility
Is it a communicable disease?
Is it a blemish to the family?
Is it a detestable status?
Is it an inferior sort?
Is it a shameful disability?
Is it an imperfect position?
Is it a non-human prototype?
Is it a punishable crime?
Is it a reason to be isolated?
Is it a divine curse?
Is it an unholy living?
Is it an immoral sin?
Is it an incomplete existence?
Isn't it a blessing to become an adoptive parent?
I am not Wrong
I am tired of you judging me,
Like you know me more than I know myself,
Like you know there is someone else I should be,
Like I am only a portion of myself
I am tired of judging myself,
Like I know another person who is me,
Like I am only a prototype open to improvement,
Like I am wrong for someone else.
I am not wrong.
I am perfect.
I am free.
I dream while you think of what’s wrong
With me
Nsamu Moonga 22/10/2014
You are the prototype
Of the authentic beauty of Africa
Your twinkling eyes
Are a genuine reflection
Of the real lovely African girl.
The glimmering of your sunny face
Is the true symbol
Of that radiant African girl
Your slim and soft body
Is the finest example
Of that Exquisite African lady.
Your traditional chitenje wearing
Is the real picture
Of a gorgeous African girl
Your fashionable walking style
Is what makes you fit
Into a model dazzling African lady
A golden jewel,
A night dazzling crystal,
An expensive gem, valued capital,
A young star, strong and real.
A view on the glow,
A beam in darkened show,
Sturdy in an alarming blow,
Simple and firm like a bow.
A gem unique and rare,
Source still unclear,
With its blinding glare,
Dazzling but hard to bear.
The evolving gem,
The flaming color array in rhythm,
A mile drift, dimming; is the new game,
Still...hope lingers, the prototype will reclaim.
Beauty from ashes, His glory the centre,
Blessed the nation where God is the Mentor.
Raise the banner, lift it high,
Shout the triumph - victory’s nigh.
Let His glory fill our land,
His Name planted where gates still stand.
Turning ashes into gold, a prototype new,
Let go, to receive the new He gives you.
Breaking the chains of sorrow and pain,
Unique you are - His blessings remain.
His favor surrounds, a shield ever true,
Forever protecting, encircling you.
Recalling days in a state
you
might feel after faking
your own breath of fresh hair she fried
from that floor dayward to
be right
on the
pointless hell prototype
aligning with her vision
of
the self-confident soldiers
singing her to the quick and stick-
y hotel where no one
ever
checks out
the plumbing unless pres-
sured to do so by the
bladder
of fact
madam at the recep-
tion desk.