Short Singeing Poems
Short Singeing Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Singeing by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Singeing by length and keyword.
DJ Drop the needle on the record
And send strong waves singeing my synapses,
Nudging my senses, confounding each cord
Composing my sinews to move in accord,
Enthralled by the notes dancing on the staff.
Neon and noise.
Night-world horrors.
Whose reflections, whose echoes
Showed not, nor shook
Its panes and doors.
Conscience-singeing.
Waywardly flapped.
Strange appeal! Once sought but through
A moonlight kiss.
A round dance. Clapped.
Somewhere the sun's glowing,
And man's cursing the heat.
The parched wind is blowing,
Singeing the drying wheat.
And man swears in knowing...
Somewhere it is raining:
The gray galvanized sky
Has loosed a liquid burst.
God's water can held high
Has quenched the dust of thirst.
And still man's complaining.
THE TONGUES OF FIRE
THAT ERUPTED FROM YOUR SKULL
SEARCHED IN VAIN AND FAILED
TO SMOTHER THE FIRE OF MY LIFE
THAT WAS HIDDEN IN A CROOK,
AND FLOWED AS WATER.
BUT MY FIRE OF LUST WAS PUT OUT BY IT
AND THE ASHES
REACTED WITH MY TEARS
AND BURNED
SINGEING ME INSIDE AND OUT
ALAS ! IT NEVER GAVE BACK
THE FINAL KISS I GAVE YOU
Soul,
I see you creeping
Under the crushed wavelengths
I can hear you weeping
Below the wilted water terrace
And you’re holding my heart.
And it’s burning your hands.
Gray,
Your cryptic veil touches my cheeks
They flush absent of color
Under the ripples of your aching
And you’re listening to my mind.
And it’s singeing your ears.
If God has a heart,
What pains man must cause him:
the killing, the cheating,
the lying, the hurting.
Does He weep
when we war?
Does He mourn
our senseless deaths?
Does He despair
of our willful blindness?
He is God-- He must feel
every lonely death,
every lost breath...
billions of dots of pain
and grief, each singeing,
burning His divine heart.
Thoughts singeing
Or love singing?
As we choose
Without excuse
Coordinate of preference
Following the fragrance
Of love divine
As we align
We provide no anchor
For hostility or rancour
Embracing the leper
As also the beggar
With a carefree unbound spirit
Judging neither fault nor merit
We are and we be
In our moment to moment entrée
Free
01-August-2020
Lust
The insatiable fires of sight
Singeing your flesh
Savoring your aching cries
She’ll whisper ecstasy
Succulent and nigh
Love
Pooling in creviced night
Suckled and smeared
Pulsating with every drop
She’s tasted your conviction
Serrated and wrought
Fate
Dried pungent hues
Immutable and imbued
Morning withered with dread
Silence speaks
Your marriage is dead
He came to save.
But the cross was the crux
Of the Father's dire demand.
So he went.
He came to give life,
But was lifted, left on a tree,
Hanging in the singeing sun.
So he died.
He came to reap,
But the fruit must first die,
Buried in the belly of the earth.
So he budded..
He sprouted the third day,
Fruited—a hundredfold, and more.
Still fruiting because
He came to save.
Dancing round
The flickering flames
Skirting the problem
Avoiding the truth
Turning a blind eye
Words left unsaid
Emotions hidden
Pretending, evading
Singeing our finger tips
Heating up and making larger
The space between us
Unable to look me in the eye
A problem that grows
Fanned and fed by silence
Till we get burned
And scars are left
It spreads and consumes
Wild, out of control
So easy to prevent
Now more difficult to stop
It was night sin
of domesticity. Dyed, I am loading
the white secret of pain
in the hollow of a mayhem.
Till every blunder takes a
downward flight striping the outsized
image of a kill. His flames are
now singeing the eyebrows of angels.
His foes have entered the compound.
The black was alluringly looped in
a stream of blood. Death did not
wait for a ceremony.
Lips forgetting the golden sheep,
tongue apologies for the wronged earth.
Satish Verma
COPLA 101 RESOLUTION : This Bad Guy World
Born helpless in a void without rights
Each a naked being in tow :
A wordless spell
Purveyors of beliefs through myths by rites
Know this well enough while kneading dough :
Ephemeral
The howling spirit wanders like wind
Would wrap its angst round any pillar :
Turns not to soul
No quest can shut out the singeing din
Than the feeling of being forever :
Is that a goal
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2014
Hearing subversive, oft-hand remark,
Callously spreading rumor on a lark.
Silhouette of angst o'er mind parks.
Deceitful soul's vast refuge a bulwark,
keeping mind's sentient eye in the dark,
Still short-sighted vision veils a quark,
But to dry, subliminal tinder won't hark.
Fueled consciences' flint strikes spark,
Fanning winds o'er tender psyche arc.
Singeing flame peels soul's, dense bark;
Contrasting light to mind painfully stark
quark: elementary particles having electric charges