Short Singsong Poems
Short Singsong Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Singsong by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Singsong by length and keyword.
Blessed be your song
tranquil, heartfelt, bittersweet
a moving song of delight
a singsong-sunshine melody
God’s giving-basket with a fruitful song
fresh every morning
King Kong plays ping pong
His doorbell goes ding dong
And you'll hear his singsong
Chitterings that ring wrong.
Bing bong goes the Ming gong
Just see how the string's long
Thanks goes to Ling Wong
Who tossed the I-Ching strong.
weary is the woe of a man wanting
waiting
weeping to sleep
sleeping to dream
dreaming too deep
waking to scream
the mantra of a modern man
the shaking of a steady hand
as he sits and shakes his head
the singsong of the walking damned
Rainbow
BY OBINNA CHILEKEZI
stars in their sockets shift
no bird’s singsong still
and distressed stone terrac winds
fanning downward and upward
after that heated noon
the rains bathe the sky
and the sky smiles
in appreciation
a rainbow
was born
easily puzzled
perplexed and bewildered
confused in a variety of ways
her pyrexic mind
encouraged latent pyromaniacal tendencies
dementia gone wild
house devoured in flames
singsong ritual and nonsense words
confusion and dementia
pieces of self scattered
easily puzzled
Autumn twilight remembers, breathe
Shadows envelop the singsong colors of dreams
Who are brisk as the purgatory where summer’s grace
Quietly cheers as the impatient feel of autumn
Replaces the sun with waves of orange and gold
Mahagony memories, bold – flames of the season’s tears
Hate is a feast for crows. Feast your eyes, instead, on love.
—by poet
Singsong of Spring
Caw of unseen crow and chorus
of potentially pretty wings.
Singsong may have interrupted
the murder - melody was sweet.
Tweeting torques communication;
hate fades with unflappable faith.
windex a clear day,
emblazon the sun’s rays.
off the clouds and its tears...
warm my skin
and brighten my hair.
release the clingstone of leaves —
let them lilt and explode
in happily ever after,
with the singsong of children
and crisp rain of Autumn.
11/14/2018
singsong voices fill the air
well, it would seem we've not a care
in the world, though it is grey
we only laugh. we don't pray
all the difficulties we ignore
though they happen right before
our very eyes
so it should come as no surprise
when the blood of children fills the skies
now we know they've not a care
as our singsong voices fill the air
Form:
The depression,
in purple moon,
scattering black magic.
The eatery, I ask, why were
you hungry ?
The singsong tea pot smiles.
The theme of mist
valley, incites the palazzo;
and the riots begin.
A dark silhouette, looms-
against the falling star,
I start picking up the debris.
On the fringe of
economic boom, I put my
hands in the wronged shirt.
Satish Verma
A short eighty years is long.
No bells singsong tears, darling.
The stern coaster loops, be strong.
We’ll join murmur of starlings.
No bells singsong tears, darling.
When it’s our time, no complaints.
We’ll join murmur of starlings.
Heaven’s waiting with the saints.
When it’s our time, no complaints.
The stern coaster loops, be strong.
Heaven’s waiting with the saints.
A short eighty years is long.
They appear innocent enough
Those symbol sounds that every child
Memorizes before they know
What they mean or what they’re used for.
(A)(B) (C) (D) (E) (F) gee! What
A rhythmic, sonorous singsong;
But when their lettered chemistry
Is formulated into words
The combined sounds begin
A metamorphic change
Like the lovely word butterfly.
When it’s clearly spoken out loud
It conjures an image as real
As a butterfly on the wing.
His skin was like loose Saran wrap
that no amount of topical
cream could smooth away its wrinkles.
His skeletal bones creaked, muffled
by an old squeaking rocking chair
he gently, rhythmically rocked
to singsong poetry he wrote
nearly fifty odd years ago.
Each iambus spoken aloud
curiously matched his rocking:
the short syllables went backward
the longer ones ever forward.
Suddenly his recital stopped
and the chair went still and silent.
I feel comforted by the throbbing in my hand,
The way reality slips from my grasp,
Blood dripping to my finger tips,
A moment content in pure bliss,
I may not exsist to you,
But baby those memories show through,
The pain brings me screaming back,
Cold reality with one true fact,
The first is always deepest,
But with each life worsins,
Because i chose to trust in you,
The ammount of cuts grew and grew,
Just because we smile and wave,
Doesnt mean are feelings arent grave.