Short Scimitar Poems
Short Scimitar Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Scimitar by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Scimitar by length and keyword.
Collective consciousness
Folded over into a square
Wrapped around a tree trunk
Etched with a scimitar
Another guidepost
To the morning star
Ad nauseam
Barba tenus sapientes
Dreams that seem to make no sense
bits and pieces of suspense
dissolve and vanish before my eyes
blackmail-spirals, howling skies
All exits blocked, no escape
ghastly images, scimitar-shaped
horrors dredged-up, long suppressed
drown in light once awake
Here,
where the black white shadows
pond and melt
her dress
flutters around the
pronounced scimitar
of her neck line.
Eyes whisper
fr-ig-id
with a syllabically thick accent
as if cold were a ham-fisted lug
emerging from the
yawning dark mouth
of the cabin behind her
pressing his hands
with the grip
of a dying man
bracing his last breath
with each
light blue,
half moon
fingernail.
Oh I am a little metaphor
I love to play a word,
today I am a fortress on
Tuesday I’m a bird
On Wednesday I’m a simile
cos I’m like a train, storming
into history,to play this wordy game
On Thursday’s I push the boat out,
ploughing through the waves, then
Fridays I’m like a scimitar, slicing
through the raves
And if you catch me weekend, I
won’t hold a grudge, just take me
as you find me, wink, wink,
nudge, nudge, nudge.
Im a dot,
A small black powerful dot,
I can spoil a celebrity autograph
I make void a bank cheque signature
I can spoil a sentence, a tiny story:
“A man walked along the. road”
With my friends, we make something mysterious:
“then the door closed………………….”
I highjack a comma
;
I meet up with another dot
:
I question myself with a scimitar shape
?
We dots, team up with our friends, the dashes to make the well known Morse code
. - .. - - .
Memories
If one could store them
in the attic without stir
and turn to other things,
to picking fruit, perhaps,
or seeding it, one could afford
the dalliance of an hour
for one would have the years
one knows will not be those
whose paralytic youth has just begun,
the years whose summer plea
for laughter and for kiss
somersault the hair
and scimitar the smile: the years
the sun, the moon, the stars
can never order stop.
Donal Mahoney