Short Sloped Poems
Short Sloped Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Sloped by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Sloped by length and keyword.
The owner's ten-story building
Rises up, whooshing, growing vast.
While the worker's humble two-sloped roof
Erodes and wastes in the wind's fierce blast.
woke up
time eloped
slightly down
mostly sloped
dreams persued
never slept alone
memories are jaded
minds
of
stone
no meat
in
a
dry nut
woke up
?
You’re wasting all my fertility years
She said
With genuine anger.
Dave said
Nothing.
He sloped away and put a single slice of rye bread in the toaster
Popped a hard-boiled egg in his mouth
And thought about his robust spermatozoa.
Form:
Skiing steep sloped slaloms one snowy week,
Knowing my courses from every stark peak.
In whiteouts of bitter blizzards bleak
Which lacked hazards to frighten me to freak.
Nothing was too risky to stop my streak,
Getting ski heroes poled into a creek.
It sloped like the hillock
Where I played as a boy
Then curved to a pillow
Of round contoured joy
It was poetry in motion
A rare joy to behold
A promise of mystery
And pleasures untold.
But like art on the wall
Of the world's best museums
Best viewed from afar
The stuff of poetry and dreams
Julie Andrews
Eat your heart out
My sound of music
Owns these hills
The pretty painted trees and all
The freedom sloped on every side
The Hudson hovering beyond
These psychedelic theaters that nature cooks by itself
Auf wiedersehen, frauline
These hills are alive with me.
(10/18/14, Poet's Park, Red Hook NY)
Hawk eyes
have never been so starved
heads hung binoculars slung
on sloped defeated shoulders
They file out of the woods and marsh
in silence like a funeral march
shuffling along
gathering at stations
With pause
with reverence
and tears
observing repentantly
the nests from last year
11.09.2019
They wend their way through Sunshine City
Cobblestoned, sloped, and Old World pretty;
And lined with colorful, homes in glad unity,
Streets linked heart to heart, in deep affinity.
Up one crooked path, and down to the river,
As rosy birds sing in green trees that quiver;
And soon arises pearl moon, a glowing sliver,
Making the roads to everywhere a bit clearer.
The strategies that worked just a week ago.
Now are unhelpful as my fear decides to flow.
And so do my thoughts which are no longer churning out reality.
Just a while back- music would spur normality.
But now the notes haunt me, like laughter that evolves.
From friendly laughter, to crowing crowds that refuse to absolve.
The ways I studied in order to cope.
Are now ineffective as my mind is sloped.