Short Scudding Poems
Short Scudding Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Scudding by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Scudding by length and keyword.
Poplars
against the rising moon;
filled full of roosting cormorants-
sleeping;
as
long shadows,
rippling between
reflections of scudding clouds-
where evanescent images
settle.
Come to me dusk, come shy,
change to the silent night of
almost light of a waning moon
sifted through scudding dragon clouds
soft as your body,
the blue film of hush,
perfume’s whispered blush,
shadow damp kisses and
blessed sweet darkness.
Though dancing daily
unswerving type the sea is
treats rich and poor same
Though scudding across
the sky, clouds are in no rush
to pour rain fairly
Moon waxes and wanes
every month but never fails
to entertain us
Fair winds and following seas.
May full sails surge with scudding breeze.
May peaceful moorings host your craft
wherever indulgent winds waft.
A toast now to your safe return.
May choppy seas be left astern.
May evening offer pleasing berth
to ensconce in halcyon firth.
Lolling about, down by the lake
Just watching the clouds scudding by.
Surrounded by fells, a vision of heaven,
There is no one as happy as I.
I hear little waves lapping the shore,
With hypnotic rhythm, they sing.
In somnolent bliss I happily drift,
Lost in the mood that they bring.
I search for your face in the scudding cloud.
The fresh offshore sea breeze tucks at my hair,
The timber of your voice, in tearful shroud.
I search for your face in the scudding cloud,
too painful to watch couples walking proud—
the memory of you at heartstrings tear.
I search for your face in the scudding cloud.
The fresh offshore sea breeze tucks at my hair.
The ruddy scudding clouds move the moon’s ménage—
Rustle nests and moon seeds in the dark garage.
They scurry over old tools and gnaw forgotten toys
Of fast receding childhoods of grown-up girls and boys.
Could we but stop time, and bring it to its knees,
We would do things we hoped, and sail distant seas.
But there is no frozen moment in the curling stream—
Life is a hand of water in the fingers of a dream.
Clouds of grey, scudding by,
Moisture laden, may rain today.
Drifting by the wind doth sigh,
Nothing stirring 'cept the clouds on high.
Dogs come for a stroke and sidle away,
Just sitting and sipping my coffee,
Garden weeded, plants all fed,
Some more bulbs planted in a compost bed.
Sun now warming as dark clouds depart,
Deep blue sky and clouds of white,
Another day in Cyprus starts just right.
© Dave Timperley 22/11/2018
I heard the wind scouring trees
As around my head danced whirling leaves,
In the sky, the clouds they raced
Scudding, at some graceless pace.
The wind gave voice, in manic howlings
As chimney pots surrendered cowlings,
Any hope of calm now cast asunder,
For in the distance, rumbled thunder.
A crack, a flash, blinding, bright,
Lightning sparked to my delight,
Who is not humbled by a storm,
For 'tis the day, being reborn.
High on a blustery jut
he flouts his fear upon a buoyant swell.
Breathes in the tang
of crowberries and storm clouds
aroma’s sieved through wind and limestone,
sheep piss and heather.
Way down on a lower sky
rock ravens spiral.
This is his land, his free blown air.
There he declares himself
the very image of this scudding world;
and he magnified and upright,
somewhere between
a twirling gnat
and a new begot God.
© a day ago