Short Ridges Poems
Short Ridges Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Ridges by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Ridges by length and keyword.
fine patterns of ridges on the skin are my subdermatoglyphic
the underlying dermal matrix performs this amazing trick
His anger plows my heart
but does not plant any seeds
weeds of anger he grafts
on the ridges and valleys
of work I can do so well
Walk along the ridges,
Pay for your pretty bridges,
Subsist in subsistence
Regard me without difference
I am a stow-away forgetfulness
The brown of the earth
caked on my hand
filling ridges too
where tools had rested
all morning
waiting forever
for the lunch whistle
R-ivers
U-nder
B-ridges
Y-earn
A-nd
N-udge
N-ature's
B-eauty,
E-ven
L-oving
Z-ephyrs
A-float
©bfa061225
Monocrostic (Birthday of Ruby Ann Belza)
It takes a snake’s forked tongue to kiss and tell
My Blue Ridges turned a Bitter Eden
Of all I’ve known Love is a Laurel Hell
The lowest limb’s fruit all bruised and beaten
Unto ones self winters never bore
Summers never die and wants are never achieved
Tis not the highest peak nor darkest valley that emplore
But the shallows and ridges near shore
A bird flew beyond the ridges,
In search of prey beneath the bridges.
'Hello', the dolphin greeted her,
But she ignored cos of her task.
She'd returned now with no riches!
c.2017
starboard saints
rowing ridges over
trembling tides, we're
brewing boulders topped with
wintery whitecaps
sinking slowly, we whisper
defeated dirges to the
abyssal plains
----------
Duty
Lay by you
Stars call merry
Wander along ridges
Sunday
Heart-felt
Peace n joy
Morning dews
Know it end at sunset
Encore
Prasenjit Banerjee
Contest: Cinqku poem
11.11.2014
Michel-Grabriel Paccard and Jacques Balmat
ascended the dangerous ridges of Mont Blanc...
without ice axes and their firm determination,
to achieve the impossible, nurtured their immense ambition.
hippocambal curve undressed
sea monsters purge here
spatial navigation re-
lease of the short te-
rm remembrance
rased
firing bursts of potentials
acting on running ridges
retrograde amnesia
Form:
B-ridges
E-xpress
R-oad's
N-ice
I-nterconnecting
E-ffective
T-ool
O-pening
R-ighteous
R-elation's
E-xact
S-olidity
Topic: Birthday of Bro. Bernie Torres (September 27)
Form: Vertical Monocrostic
Hard-working, calloused hands
firmly imprint ridges upon my back.
Your sandpaper face, like a fine file,
smooths against my neck gently.
Like your rugged bristle terrain,
my arm hairs stand erect.
11-7-19
We raise up to the place,
We’re reaching the time,
On the place, when the dream wakes up
In the moment,where the reality will fall asleep
In a dark shadow, a cradle,
blinds the ridges
With bright cloud,? cover
darkens the lake.
Stones inadvertently resemble pain
sharp when raw
freshly torn from rock.
Witnesses of time, they fill with voices
the ridges round off,
become children's cheeks.
Afterwards
they shrink,
stone egg cells
in an eternity of ideas.
An onyx ink impression
spirals in unique form,
from the dizzying loops
etched in soft flesh--
where furrows weave
like trenches in the earth,
dotting the surface
with ridges and islands
that protrude in
evidential patterns.
There is no cover.
There is no shield.
You will wander all your life
With a vacant memory
Of times forbidden, and times beloved,
As you dance along the ridges,
Like a softening cloud,
Until you yourself dissipate
Into the air of it all.
Alexandre, the young alpinist from a southern France,
attaches crampons to his tough climber's booths,
to ascend the dangerous ridges of Mount Rose,
and with the same ice axe, he climbed Mount Everett!
Copyright 2010 by Andrew Crisci
Early morning shadows like mists
Creep across the lower ridges
Settle down into the hollows
Like the pervasive poverty
Of the hill country.
By noon the mists have lifted
The shadows receded
But poverty remains.
written September 8, 2021
Jutting far beyond date palms and dunes,
East of somewhere and west of nowhere,
Bound by rocks along sparse vegetations,
Endless rows of towering tors and ridges,
Lonely backdrop against cloudless skies,
Silent sentries amidst desolate wasteland.
Evening surrenduring,
I am at-once bird and man.
I cannot see the sky,
Because I am the sky.
The warmth of simple bounty
Rolls through me in waves.
Leave your scarring ridges
To be remembered in the ebbs,
You, now, as my old friends laughter.
mountain ridges of clouds
o'er my windshield spread
interspersed, baby-blue patches
brilliant spaces, like threads
stitching skies' stories together
a hobbled glance ahead of
cars tethered to a
snarled, honking freeway,
blustery rage moving in, I dread
My Old Flame
Would that I would fly
To ocean’s side
And catch the twinkling caps,
Where the moon touches
The boundary ridges
And I could but dream of you.
“Over there” you sailed
Where herons fly
Oh, so long ago.
I missed you so – I did not know
That you would be truly gone.
His fingers trail the hated ridges across my chest
I cringe and whimper softly in his neck
They journey on in ruthless compassion,
In determined aim to conquer, a collective
act of mercy by exploring hands.
Equalizing my wasteland by massaging
and by kissing away my tears