Short Scythes Poems
Short Scythes Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Scythes by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Scythes by length and keyword.
Old Father Time offered for sale
Used scythes Death designed to impale
The demos were free
But if you ask me
Those buyers looked woefully pale!
Sleepless nights alone
Piercing the thoughts of the lost
Painful incision
Death doesn’t mock the weary
He scythes them heartlessly
Russell Sivey
Purely Fiction
Over lambent plains
of blond wheat,
braided spikes
rustling
in flaxen breeze,
a flock of crows
seesaws
like obsidian scythes
in cider firmament
under harvest sun's afternoon eye.
Love,
if you’re a god indeed,
why are you like, then,
some dandelion?
Tell me what can I do
to keep you safe?
If a single blow of breeze
scythes you down,
how can you stand against
the heart’s hurricane?
Sunlight glints off polished silver
A river reflects in its face
Water tinted a reddish hue
Sweeps along the scythes base
But iron and silver do not meet
Until the blade swings toward a rock
The wooden handle now rots there
With both bodies the river has caught
Jade scythes
of areca fronds
slice slate air;
Medusa's snakes writhe.
Pewter arrows pierce
my garden.
I sit beneath an eave
pondering
the nascent storm.
Geraniums cloister
like vestal butterflies
in darkening loam
as a multitude
of emerald tufts
bend on the fleeing lawn.
5/12/18
When comes the death of death’s last gasp
this momentary timeless lapse
between each breath, inhale, exhale
death’s agony, succeed or fail,
will linger on the scythes honed tip
slip slowly through Death’s claw-like grip
knowing that within its grasp
comes the death of death’s last gasp.
John G. Lawless
©2/14/2022
Along street’s he’s casing, unseen in control
Sickles and Scythes, double edged swords
One hooks the young, other catches the old
And for winding up days, gets a tidy reward
Not diamonds or rubies, platinum nor gold
But fruits, and candies, his Halloween hoard
Bitesize Poem no.54 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Line Gauthier
10/22/22
Coloured Putin
Shoot her full of rainbows
Scythes from heaven
Souls down in Hell
Hundred thousand dead
Mamushka I miss you
Our Leader sent us there
Not an Odessa holiday
Opposite of that mama
Forgive them all
It's Putin's orders
Hundred thou casualties
Bullet ridden rainbows
Her essence is black
SELL OUT
Nick Armbrister
out in 23
On the days the wind does blow
life gets caught up in how things should go
and winds gather up the harvest from the field to tow
to blow up harvest in good flight it may freely flow
but what of those who never know
and never feel the warm winds of autumn blow
and the scythes will never come home
and all hope of good harvest is then
forever gone
The Ghoulette Becomes Breakfast
‘I’m so so in
the Halloween spirit—a scavenger hunt I’m hosting. I’ve hidden bloody axes, scythes etc. in
my backyard, however I’m
terribly upset I won’t be able to attend tonight,’
screamed The Ghoulette in fright
in a stork’s oven roasting in the light.
A too famished stork had kidnapped her,
had kidnapped her with great skirr.
Sky filters through scant woods
printing a cold sunlight on shadowed tree trunks.
Only December has this light,
it both scours and forages,
it scythes away all heaped-up flotsam.
A December wind,
sings its own death song.
Ice hangs unseen upon the air.
The woodland acres shimmer,
then tremble upon a long fading note,
one that ushers in
last rites and other mixed blessings.
a bite like hot charcoal
a nate full
of stolen baby teeth
that scythes off dried skin
ripped off like old wallpaper
the tearing of small birds
hidden under an early barn
mice shake like clocks
and cry in cold straw
You tap dancer,
as cruel as a broken tooth
as evil as a round eye
Snapdragons Crackle
Snapdragons crackle
in the air for Maura
and her flowing gait,
a swagger neither Nora
nor Maureen would ever
let a suitor savor.
Maura knows
that in her wake
men with scythes
and burlap sacks,
creep like gators,
eyes afire, jaws agape.
Nora and Maureen
can smell these men.
Unlike Maura
and her flowing gait,
Nora and Maureen will smile,
take their time and wait.
Donal Mahoney
an acre of land
our very own smallholding
father scythes long grass
rows of potatoes
green runner beans, sweet carrots
mother bakes fresh bread
huge laundry baskets
filled with ripe red strawberries
small hands were stained red
a goat and two pigs
chickens and a cockerel
our morning alarm
perched upon a stool
I learn to do the milking
owl hoots in ash tree
Garden Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Dear Heart
06/10/20
There are holes in the fabric of the universe.
Where the diamond-hearted used to reside.
Alive-shining beyond bright-warming kind.
Mindless reapers -whipping poison scythes.
Another hole in the fabric of the universe.
Rapidly filling with holes-deep black holes
Swallowing souls-vomiting misery's bones.
Where's our God-balm to quiet the mind of man...
to work the shine back into the gems.
No more holes -only diamond shine.
Into the heart and soul of all mankind.