Short Rutted Poems
Short Rutted Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Rutted by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Rutted by length and keyword.
Life is like a rough, rutted road,
With rocks to trip, to catch and hold.
But love can smoothens the path ahead,
If we cast out hatred instead.
Copyright 2023
Wanderd corridors
of lighted rooms
Rutted and trailed
over years of steps,
Leading and led,
Seeing and fed,
Noting the moving things,
Hearing the rooster rings,
Familar faces
In roving places
Waiting our next touch.
Wearily I walk this rutted road
Knowing this life led yet is mine
Due is all ransoms for my soul
To every witness I leave behind
Lift my heart to spare no love
To be a light for shadows cast
I draw my strength from God above
With hope that seeks the will to last
A man
tensely
tied to a
tired tempered tower.
With his mind
like a reticent
rutted rat
scurrying off
to cower
within the
crooked cryptic
corners of
reality.
But whose
heart is the
only hand
reaching out
of the rubble.
Still hanging
onto a
half hushed
howl of hope.
THE ROAD TAKEN
I meant to leave the broad pavement, the dandelion meadows.
Spring tide ebbs, petals fall, winter returns, I must go quick and straight:
Narrow, rutted is my path, but summer’s gate - always open.
…………………………………………
Written by Sydney Peck
For the SWEET SIJO contest of Adeleke Adeite
Going alone again, solo,
Sown an unpaved road,
Bumpy and pitted,
Rutted and ditched
Nonetheles a road,
All words spoken
A soliliquoy
Lost on the ears of the rocks,
Lost in the ripples of the puddles
Vanishing into one's own ears,
ravaged by Life and the constant of Death
Ah, the simplictiy
of the lonely, lonely road.
Form:
Our brains become somewhat rutted
Running constantly within the same track
But let someone confront with deeper wisdom
Then our lightbulb can be turned back (on)
For some it would be easier to run a mudslide
Back up the slippery slope of time
Than to get the brain to light up and burn
From new ideas, knowledge to absorb
I amble along paths
rutted deeply
In the life
that I have fashioned.
All pine for sunny days
of warmth and hope, but now
an aura tinged with fugue supplants
and haunts me with its specter.
For in the end, what I desire
simply does not matter. The fuse
is lit; the bomb goes off, and pieces
of me now are lying everywhere.
The dog stops often to sniff
the scuffed turf,
it smells last Sundays game
tracing the play, the points
where the intoxicated ball
slid crazily,
through layers of musky exertion.
The man of course smells none of this,
he only smells a ghostly perfume
now buried in another place.
Yet even here
deep in this rucked and rutted earth
like a dog on a remembered scent
he follows her.
Rutted twittens, ivy shadowed
flecked with fuchsia blooms
as spring nods gaily
to wake dozy summer
and clattering of feet
on the sparse cobbles
that meander in quaintness
toward sprawling flea markets
where bustle and laughter
of children, echo, larkish
amid the ruddy traders
who grin and joke
behind their wobbly trestles
draped in gingham cloth
that sport a shambles
of vibrant, ancient treasures.
Chasing of dreams through time shaken seasons
Forming and shaping of whispery wills
Weaving and wending through common place living
Crutches and handholds like miracle pills
Places to go to when breathers are needed
Hammocks of cool shaded quiet away
Beside hot rutted roadways of unending hills
Questions and answers and working all day
A cold glass of poetry sipped on the way
Held in a callused and tremoring hand
Still ready and willing to play
Steelwork Summer
Blast furnace sky swings down
Pours a molten mix the way they lay roads
Press it in, choke you up on din and dust
Slink along the walls, close
Hugging that stingy strip of shade
Once summer was a skipping girl
Only now and then might fire in scarlet blush
Now it’s the sweaty worker’s weary grin
He flashes through rutted blackened days
Of rolling sweltering lines across the city life
Oh yes, we work it, summer, fuel the forge
Temper the steel
rainbow chick with attitude
took the branch by storm
stomping the leaves off
the other birds flew away
trilling and cawing their distress
she looks like an angel but she is a devil
rainbow chick loved her instant reputation
the sheer power went to her beak
She strutted and rutted until she fell to her death
moral of this story will have to be given
in chick heaven where she is strutting and trilling
totally ignored by other braggarts who landed on the same level