Short Recoils Poems
Short Recoils Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Recoils by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Recoils by length and keyword.
lips purse,
face frowns, mouth sucks,
cheeks implode, tongue recoils
head snaps back - disgusting taste - sour
lemon
Is persecution a sign of weakness
prosecution a sign of strength
To the victors go the spoils
from might makes right
the world recoils
Throughout our lives we sometimes blunder
We assume our writings are received with humor
A failure to understand
The reaction is unplanned
The recipient recoils at the humor off-color
why can't you see me?
i'm calling out
but my voice echoes into silence
where did i go?
why can't you hear me scream?
i reach out into an empty void
my hand recoils at the burn of a lone star.
you were never there.
i never did find you that day.
self, be not overly full of yourself,
as fragile as crystal in a glass shelf,
which, at the slightest imagined offense,
recoils, sulks in resentful, vain defense
of your self-image that easily shatters,
so effortlessly tricked by flatterers.
Spring's face, Summer's now.
A much fiercer!
Its bee's peace-drone, warped into
Hornet's war-chant.
Who recoils not, stands
Up to it stemmed
More brave I, for this yarrow.
Only a plant!
Are we deluded
A mirage by?
Its arms, this backroad's shore-raised
Sea-cool hugs grant!
The dense stratus manipulates the sunlight
Rugged heath fades as day turns to night,
Solitary tree recoils
Unaware embroils
In respect
Toils,
Self respect
In winter’s turmoil's
Evokes and then disembroils,
When with groans of naked limbs doth fight
Sees off the weary wind on its way in flight.
© Harry J Horsman 2021
An Andaree form
As we lay down our swords, we open ourselves to more
For the world unfolds before us all as one captive viewer
As we take up our swords, we close doors of opportunity
For the world recoils in fear of the lack of thought we exhibit
Let us destroy the swords, piercing the armor of hatred and mistrust
Freeing us from the bonds of ourselves and allowing us growth under One
Winter scatters moth bones.
For a while,
it refreshes the turgid and lax.
Then the chill legs of small dancers
pirouette over warm bodies.
Flesh recoils, lungs curl around
each breath.
Hedgerows offer their huddled masses,
to the underground and hidden.
The light is going color blind,
Wind-crones whip rabbit hair
into wickiups
for the newly dying.
Listen to poem:
Stone castle forts fall,
their wet moats dry to parched dust
power mutes silent
yet tyrant's demand to rule
remains coiled in naked might
Drawbridge now unfolds
as policy, law, decree
the moat, a filter
controlling information
behind wall of secrecy
Fortress power stays
autocracy hewn in stone—
unbreachable walls
the moat of politicide
changing form, not its intent
Morose, hollow cheeks
Crumbs blown by the wind,
An unknown badge on an old cap,
Hiding brown wisps, flattened to the skull.
Bare walls, ugly colour.
Skin worn thin
Sunken eyes on a radiating screen
Faltering fingers on keys.
Hating breath, cracking voice,
Tung on constant display
A glance to the window,
A bird caws.
Plastic cap on fresh laces,
Rustling by my side,
My soul recoils,
A man, the death of god.
A faultless bottle by his side.
A magic knight coursing on in brilliance
On lean hack in clanging, cleaving aegis,
Crunching incantation-dark, blunt, and grunt.
So light illumines his cold, whiskered phiz
And it predates the warrior in night hunt.
Chase is stashed by shade then stir lulls to prance
When periphery is gorged by a mist.
Pitches of bolts burst ahead ere he cries.
His corpus recoils from cuffs in the breasts;
Wide-flat nose lights down to the ground; he dies.
“The fog may come on little cat feet”*
But Autumn eschews silence
The thick crunch of crisp fallen foliage
Hastens the homebound honking of gaggled geese
Soft whispers of falling rose petals
Fade into the haze of hoarfrost
Cold winds whistle wildly through naked Maples
Flags snap loudly to attention
A brutish barn cat recoils from the touch of snow
Squawking ducks slowly slide across an icy crust
Chattering children board a school bus
Winter awaits its curtain call