Short Recreates Poems
Short Recreates Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Recreates by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Recreates by length and keyword.
Once a smile installs
Again in your once sad face
Recreates a place
Like a heavenly surround
Bringing back the desired peace
the allure of the sea
divulged to me
a whitecap's primeval roar
waves gently lapping the shore
come ye, landlubber
her hidden bosom awaits
swirling waters' pleasures
nature's womb recreates
As I sleep inner peace
Before I die
I shall cry
In my eye a tear
In my mind fear
While my soul awakening
My spirit not sleep it's wakes
Asit recreates inner peace
hush!!
quietly no longer seeks
It speaks
inner peace
4/16/19
He spins,
and with his arms,
his sides,
are breaking walls,
and barriers,
solid change
becoming fluid
and drink:
100 proof alcohol,
for the wet hot head,
having tasted love the night before,
recreates in the next day,
and the next,
in addiction.
EXEGISIS OF FRAGMENTS
concentrates
evoked
imagination
in
sorrowful
remembrance
inner
necessity
calculated
rationality
&
recreates
dedication
to
a
conglomeration
of
apparent
motifs
consumed
by
invention
When troubles and turmoil lay their grip on me,
Solace is found in a simpler time and place.
In my mind or person, it is where I flee;
Recalling Grandpa’s tractor and Grandma’s face.
Across spring-fed brook, past a massive oak tree;
Tall pines encircle and hide my hilltop space.
Nature soothes and recreates me to my core.
Friends’ strife fades here, too; I’ve saved spots for more.
2/1/19
Hiden scent shy itself walk through its destiny
Escaped in nighmare blushing love in lace
In turn of affection known love of dance
All gather in future to present in past fire to survive.
Deserted note lost in dreaming in tidel sense
Spelled its name liar being happy with rejoice
Recall to reclaim to be loved as child in denial
Love its scene given boundary of retrospect
Claim its sense of search recreates its dignity
Those that I now love
are the dead who yet live on.
They are no longer memories,
but dwell under the rib cage
of this world.
Their lungs breathe in and out
magnifying every iota of creation
into a universe unto itself.
These are the hidden wombs
of all births.
Love is in them,
not as a past or future wave,
nor in any hand-me-down ocean,
but as an ever cresting Now.
Such a breath continually recreates
what the God seed has planted just once.
Steely needles stab and scratch at solid rock
Over and again – etching there her lines and curves.
Painting his love and despair onto the cold unfeeling stones,
Hoping for release – finding little; for peace – finding none.
In six-fold color, he recreates in profile her wan visage:
Ever poised on the precipice, the sick child awaiting death.
Poem based on Edvard Munch’s The Sick Child I (Lithograph, 1896)