Short Scythe Poems
Short Scythe Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Scythe by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Scythe by length and keyword.
I finally let my breath out, relieved that the scythe had come and passed, only to turn away and fall down the flight of stairs.
Rich Harvest
oats ripe for reaping
yield under the sharp scythe blade
sheaves of golden grain
Idyll-haiku-seasonal
spring is a hopeful bud of pink
summer is an ice cream truck bell
autumn, the red flag on an empty beach
winter wields a white scythe of hell
Oh waiter
at the river styx,
striking down the might and meek.
Thou scythe
is camped outside my door;
waiting...
as with us all.
To take the good ahead of schedule.
Form:
the
meadows
harbour
wild flowers
and
sweet clover
bows
before the
scythe
© Harry J Horsman 2019
alabaster clouds
morph into ashen grey smoke
acid rain plummets
a grieving heart breaks in two
drowning within its own flood
angel of deaths scythe
shows not an ounce of mercy
reaps a twin flames love
Life erodes the body; riding its waves, leaves one drained.
Spirit’s education, is wear and tear; the mortal is cut short.
Beware the reaper’s scythe; the scalpel of death, cuts swift and clean.
The ghost with the cloak
stares coldly with no eyes
causing lids to shut
life thuds on land
his scythe steals souls and vitality
by the millions
creating profit for his red wine cellar
and in the end
he will stand on top
Love
is like lively rivulets
meandering through
valleys and meadows
merging into the sea,
like myriad stars
illuminating the heavens
dazzling the firmament
~Word Vision Poetry II contest
by Vermillion Scythe
A scythe leaves, a
trail of grains.
There was no exit plan
*
for the grass. The
sparrows, will come
for a reunion.
*
A water pipe leaks.
A crow bends down
to get the answer.
Satish Verma
Steady lads
You're the farmer
You're the scythe
Sharp like a knife
They're the wheat
Stalks in the wind
Steady boys
They come again
Time to reap.
4/17/14
Author's note: The battle of the Wheat-field, Gettysburg, July 2, 1863.
I know I’ve not always been good
He’s here with his scythe and his hood
I said you’re too soon
He said get up goon
And harvest this hay if you would
3 June 2021
Sponsor: Line Gauthier
Contest: Bite size poem No 4
"I have eyes but can not see"
...said the man who slew his Saints
Cold a heart of mass complaints
Misled by his misery
And the angel said to him
"If thou wish to regain sight
Sacrifice thy soul with light
'Less thee scythe be Reaper's Grim"
Slice through the silence,
Scythe made of beads of time
How will we know the sound that silence makes
When all is done
Reality ripped from unreality
The last ear listening for the last wave
Silence at last but naught to acknowledge
the unending sound
Fear the tap upon thy shoulder
Dread it more as ye grow older,
It will come, there's no escape
It bears a scythe, and dons a cape.
Entry for
Poe-etic Verse Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Charles Messina
18/2/2020. Placed 2nd.
Damned death, does it dilly-dally,
darkening doors then squirm pass by.
Disfavor of blood dark alley,
doors impassable; man, to die.
Dressed in a shroud, clutching a scythe,
dimmed soul as it began to writhe.
Dread fills the desolate valley.
6/6/2018
Back and forth,
HIgh then low
Black swifts scythe below;
Beneath the vivid hue
Wide-set celestial blue.
Across the field
Buttercups fill my view with
Dung pats,dried,and fried in the sun;
Cowslips clumped,bud apple-green
With daisies dotted between.
Back and forth,
HIgh then low
Black swifts scythe below;
Beneath the vivid hue
Wide-set celestial blue.
Across the field
Buttercups fill my view with
Dung pats,dried,and fried in the sun;
Cowslips clumped,bud apple-green
With daisies dotted between.
Darkness is a being
that folds its hand over our eyes
and steal our vision from us.
It is a dark blanket
that spreads over the earth,
A disease that turns men into shadows.
CONTEST SPONSOR: Vermilion scythe
CONTEST NAME: Word Vision Poetry IV
12/27/2018
The inevitable reaper
whose shadow is grim
He waits for his victims
as their heartbeats fade
He collects their last breath
as a grim souvenir
His garden of bones
Blooms only grief,
Another soul is leaving,
He gathers his scythe ...
The moon gleams on your pallid complexion.
I cannot keep my eyes off your charm.
Your bony dance is frenetic.
Your wedding dress is chilling.
Your hand holds the sandglass.
When you wish, I am
ready to feel
on my neck
your sharp
scythe.
The man
with the scythe
is having his way
with your day.
You think it's no 'biggie'?
It's like the coins
in your Piggy-
you counted eleven,
he calls it seven,
says he's the brethren
who delivers you
to heaven. His is
the power that
monitors your
hour.
Kiss
The ecstasy of extreme joy attained,
When two throbbing hearts beat,
The pinnacle of unconditional love gained,
When two warm lips meet,
That’s a kiss which is never to be missed.
Submitted to Poetry Contest - Word Vision Poetry II
Sponsor - Vermillion Scythe
How time doth flow,
Like grains of sand,
From the bony fingers,
Of death’s cold hand.
A blood stained scythe,
His weapon of choice,
A broken hourglass,
His haunting voice.
His cold blade hacking,
Piercing skin and bone,
No time for forgiveness,
No time to atone.
When death stares me down
When my freedom is stripped,
when my emotions are no more,
when Death raises its scythe,
when God calls to me,
to my heaven above,
when my writing is not here
and i can write no more,
the day Death stares me down
is the day i go home.