Short Sapless Poems
Short Sapless Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Sapless by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Sapless by length and keyword.
My words fall down and skitter around
like leaves from an autumn tree,
dry and crinkly.
Sapless.
Lifeless.
Vestiges of prouder times
when language used to speak my mind.
Bid on my love
Sobs sapless fragment of my thirsty soul,
as cravings of illusive heart condense to mole,
Intense passion inked into scroll of trust,
Bid on my love first to later escape disgust !
Written Dec 4th, 2015
For contest by Tammy Reams
Awarded HM
Please, Storm!
Let the children live!
Give milk to the sapless breast.
The desert spreads a spill so dry
it stretches wider wings of death.
Lightening shocks our eyes.
Thunder’s anger bolts.
Angels weep their own relief
relieving tiny throats.
May 2, 2016
for EVEN THE ANGELS WEPT - Poetry Contest
sponsor: John Lawless
as I sit here sapless most unable to see
my memory recalls one who truly loves me
your fragrant rose I press in this page
The crackling of stem overtaken by age
our bodies trembled on cold winter's night
as you covered my lips in naked moonlight
how shall I live when my true love's gone
but through a dead rose moonlight lives on
- - - - - - - - -
Judy Konos
9/15/15
Mixed Senses
Evening
He sits
Before life’s easel
Passersby
Taking a quick peek
The colors await sunrise
The brush longs for a vibrant streak
A dash across the coming day
And still he sits
Awaiting “his” moment
Staring at a blank canvas
Dreaming of a crayon past
The canvas is contorted
The sun morphing into an angry cloud
Sapless trees shivering in silence
A cold mirror replacing the lake
Reflects the grin of a cold moon
A thinning wolf howls
Lotus, whose sapless roots
Deep in stream’s muddy soul,
When lost the mossy bond below
Is turned gray in deeper gloom.
Her mate the light of all that live,
In pain he sinks in golden waves,
And the verge of seas are found
Billowing clouds that wailing loud.
Life is but a sweet and snappy scent
That keeps the pulpy mass in place
On frames of bones big and small,
Veins, sinews, marrows in tones.
When is lost that fragrance blest
We are, but a fetid maggots’ feast.