Short Snaking Poems
Short Snaking Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Snaking by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Snaking by length and keyword.
Listen to poem:
stairway
to heaven bound
has step-wise tiers
strewn with slippery slides
snaking down to land head first ~
rung hamstrung
stripes snaking through verdent grasses
we follow along in a helicopter
appreciating that natives are free
like wild mustangs, enjoying their full power
not locked in zoos, separated by bars
Adventurous moonlight
Snaking through trees left and right
Landing on your smiling face
Unaware of the sly pun gone by
Mere backdrop to the laughing cries
Of summertime in the city
Pity
noon sun's halo at play
silence echoing away
scarecrow sways the day
warm wind, somehow seen
snaking across cornfields green
winged, serpentine!
Slip sliding from chilled breeze
Slivers of flurries waltz
Softly mantling old trees
Silver-coated by rain:
Snaking down down glossed yard
Soon...frost will enchant you
Smile! Crystals peck your cheeks.
Orca breaches amid
oarfish snaking among
oblivious new pod.
Orcan arching bodies
obscure oarfish slithers
on an unseen loner;
ocean’s oldest secret.
3-28-2022
In Search Of Prey Poetry Contest
Joseph May
Apomasu, the stream snaking
Under the forest drinks enough rains
Grasses flaunt their greenest gowns to
Ungulates who were
Starving at the dry banquets of
The previous months
Birth date: August 8
Mist covered tall trees
Myna on a wire
Sunshine mugged by clouds
Smoke of factory
Road snaking uphill
Cold numb fingers
Chill wind on face
Dry thirsty throat
Eyes yearning more
Humming wind
Rustling leaves
My breathing
Wet soil
Wet wood
Bread
The river kicks up its heels in swinging sway and lilt.
Winding downstream in a sinuous snaking stream bed it built
By eroding outer bends, building up its inner bends with silt
Defying the straight and easy path, which like a flippant lover it jilt
I ask of the desert dunes,
The stately Kilmanjaro, the
Mambilla outcrops;
I ask of the great forests
The seven old rivers
Snaking through my black
homeland;
I ask of the noble rains,
Every ancient observer;
Does it matter who built the
Old Zimbabwe
When we feed not today
Our hungry hordes?
A snaking mouth sloughs two spines;
the rattle of vertebrae.
A woman learns to ride them, feels
the trombone slide of a dragon’s tail.
A man lifts on tip-toe
not wanting to fumble.
They knit lusts to opening prayers,
cadavers to body bags,
close a gnash of gaping space -
block a cold throat
from an exposed face.
fog-dampened sunbeam,
gleaming stairway to somewhere,
up, down anywhere!
while 'neath sun's halo,
silence stirs echoes away,
scarecrow scares the day!
the wind, somehow seen,
snaking over cornfields green,
winged, serpentine!
clouds tumble over peaks damp air chews chill skin
fingers grip their bones no retreat or trace of steps
snaking tongues of mist race upwards leaden cloud overhang
two worlds press
hammer hands nail a tiring flesh
breath hooked to peril
now grin and yowl now shout
a stone arrowhead aimed at nothing and everything
climb on
Can't go out
Weather won't permit
Too cold, too wet, too slippy
Dressed up warm
I clean and cook
And wash and iron and polish
Listen to the radio
Despair at the news
Hum to the music
Escape from the world
Enter boredom
Slowly at first
Then snaking into the psyche
Banging with frustration
Screaming at the world
I wan't to explode
Form:
a placid scene
under eyeliner horizon
dew drops tearing across canopied skies
roiling thunder
shaking the earth and heavens
a flood falls, staining porcelain facade
the stream snaking its way
through flat-topped mountains
and forests untouched by man
the river returning to its origin
a sordid spring once wet with creation
now run dry by rage
Locust of green
Swarm of yellow
Procession,
Snakish march along
The snaking path
Obeisance!
Mother,
Dark fertile mother of
Ijesa-isu Land
Giant potter of thousand fingers
Meek moulder of Midas touch
Age-long furnace of golden embers
Behold a citadel
Alas!
Snowy week, snaking ever so gracefully down,
Kicking up cold powder blanketing the ghost town's
Ice slopes, leaving behind you...
"I passed through here" tracks brand-new.
Nothing could be more carefree!
Gosh, I wish I knew how to ski!
Skiing Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Julia Ward
Date written: 01/20/2023
Grit flies from spinning rubber,
the traffic is edging through roads,
narrowed, by the plowed and pushed aside.
Curb-side snow remains; solid humps turn brown,
in an un-melting light.
A lone chicken hawk circles an iced-over acre
of snaking roadway,
its black track attracts the birds eye,
as if it were the contrail of an elongated rat,
stretching into a bolt- hole of frozen sky.
The snow
covered ground
accentuated chameleon
leaves quietly hanging
from stoic branches
of proud trees piercing
chilling spaces
of the coming eve.
Above in the cold
silhouetted sky
the coming full moon
briefly peeked out
before the slow passing
of dark veiling clouds.
Below, a snaking trail
of red lights
made their slow crawl
across this winter canvas
of nature’s brush.
Listen to poem:
Signal fires by the second ignite the abyss
Only an assassin of the deep that knows not to miss
Love in the universe more than defines this
Darkness is given more than a trillionth kiss
Snaking through the galaxy distruction in its hiss
Identifying as a rock it will leave a mark on this premiss
Gone will be all worries brought by its dismiss
Noting the impending doom, I will enjoy such bliss
I was little
My dad called me
Medusa
I owned
Feral hair
Curls
Snaking
Untamable
Fierce
Growing independent
In any direction
Like me
He said
He said it
With pride
And I believed him
Why wouldn’t I
He was my dad
He knew everything
So I converted to
Independent
I pretended
Fierce
I grew
Untamable
I became myth
Medusa
One who kills
One who dies
For the sake
Of all men
And still
It was not all over,
As if you wanted to listen
To the dying echoes
Of my leafless urge
Snaking through the
Valley of my just widowed heart.
While the shape of dead tolls
In the blue evening
Till the last purple flame
Of lust for life-
Dies away, leaving
Heaps of ashes
On the bald foreheads
Of the darkest hours-
In the nuptial bed
Of my crystal heart.
At the edge of darkness
Sleeps the epitaph of mercy,
Since the time spark-lit her magic
Shadow cursed the hour of urgency.
Here comes the ancient mist…..
Snaking her way beneath the well of toxic grim sin,
Thus commences the chase, till the end of days
And so begins the epic of the invisible amongst the unseen.
(C) Obaidur Rahman. Published in the poet’s debut book of English poetry titled “The Mystic Inferno” in 2012.
silky sensual slick and slinky
gently and softly touching others
brushing society with the lightest touch
flowing with the river of expression
artistically pleasing, a swirl of shine
snaking into crevices of society
designed to sooth and comfort
those who are hurting or disappointed
with the most silky heart possible.
flexible to the maximum degree
oozing with love for others
showing empathetic in the form of silk.
Swimming in the water of my own making.
Waiting to be found out, body quaking.
Thinking I have a few extra minutes snaking.
My co-worker in conspiracy is also shaking.
The stress has our bodies up and aching.
Give me an instant of easy leaf raking.
Or a day of cinnamon bread baking.
Or a day of creative print making.
Constantly fearful is a huge undertaking.
Waiting to be found out, body quaking.
Swimming in the water of my own making.