Short Punctuates Poems
Short Punctuates Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Punctuates by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Punctuates by length and keyword.
mourning dove's coo croon
punctuates tropical dawn
frog plops rain puddle
Copyright, July 1, 2017
A piercing cry punctuates the silence
Make way
Pierced side and hands and feet
Pricks ears, pierces hearts
Unquenchable fire, unquenchable love
A wilderness wasteland or a narrow path
Choose this day, give your ears to hear
And live
In the quiet still
in the sable night
dreamy dotted with
punctuates of light
I recall
my youthful days:
no balcony too steep
nor high – those I could
not climb, then~ simply I
would fly
Wanted: old Juliet, with
sympathetic elevator --
Rain-steps publish worms,
wriggles scribe themselves.
The thrown thud of a newspaper
punctuates the wet and written.
Sparrows scrawl and scrabble,
foraging starlings attack the earth
sounds squirm up,
muddy scripts are picked at, edited
a door slams,
the ground rewrites itself.
the night is young...
and cool as cucumber
together we stared at the future
puncturing the punctuates of life
the night is young...
in her sanctuary i staggered
conjuring and chanting in the bowel of thighs
the night is young...
in the balcony of her kisses
i conquer nations
for the love of , Oyenchi
awoh kingsley awoh
Form:
Sweat mingels with my tears,
as thunder reverberates above.
Angels with calginous garments,
stand in obscure doorways;
as lightning punctuates the empyrean.
Looking towards the future,
I can only envision the past.
So once again I plant flowers
at my brother's grave.
But who are these flowers really for?
The person long since deceased,
or the ones who remained behind?
ETERNAL EXISTENCE
Misuse decay's from inside-
Scripture beats crime lies upon early sunshine-
Empty life leaves scratch the willow sallow-
Warning day o' coming washes man's sins forgiven
Luke warm sadness punctuates inert organs pain-
Hunt of madness catches forbidden below us-
None seen -none heard creature hides behind-
Battle bow of bones in time
All life folds above us sweet exodus
The soundless rhythm of my hidden thoughts
Punctuates my strides on the unfeeling ground,
The chorus of my countless unwritten poems
Have a place in my private recesses found.
I feel a poem in the chirruping of the keen sunrise bird
And another in the sickening brutality of heartless men,
A couple of verses in the little-noted burials of great souls
And endless sonnets in the mystic things beyond my ken.
the moon in full bloom
golden beams dance on water...
gilded tides rising.
Rolling waves of cobalt cascade ashore,
subservient to time, and nothing more.
The thunder of crashing breakers punctuates
the deafening silence.
And liquid shadows color the reef
in gradient shades of ebony.
Night steals the light, like a brazen thief,
acting purely out of jealousy:
darkness, its eternal destiny.
By Mark Miller © 03/19/2012
Misuse decay's from inside-
Scripture beats on lies of crimes in an early sunshine-
Empty life leaves scratch the willow sallow-
Warning day o' coming washes man's sins forgiven
Lukewarm sadness punctuates inert organs of pain-
Haunt of madness catches so slow below us-
None seen -none heard a creature hides behind-
Battle bow of bones in time, all life folds above us sweet exodus
You get familiar
with the fall of the land,
follow a gentle slope of words
down to the shore
where water punctuates
time with waves.
All becomes a poem,
washing up
metaphor upon metaphor,
meaning forming on the wide,
tide swept beach,
whisperings in the chambers
of seashells, white sand
carrying the remains
of the churned passions
of the sea. Love distills
to a warm, soft breeze
nuzzling into a still
drowsy morning.
Rolling hills dim in the distance
Beneath low-hovering mists,
While an occasional stand of pines
Punctuates the shallow canyon rim,
The steppes to the summit appear
Like wrinkles carved into the face
Long ago, the sharp outcropping defines
A deep crevice plunging sharply
Toward the foreground in shadows,
Vanishing into imagined darkness.
written August 10, 2021
(inspired by the scenic view on a
screen-saver, location unknown)
the earth speaks
in a syntax of wind,
in the slow-moving vowels
of shadow across stone;
its grammar lives
in the way grasses lean,
in how light punctuates
the ridge at dawn,
each pause a lesson,
each shift a clause
in the long, unwritten text
of being alive;
and when we listen,
truly listen~
we feel meaning gather
like seeds in the palm,
a quiet fluency
in the language
we were born knowing
but forgot how to read.