Short Southbound Poems
Short Southbound Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Southbound by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Southbound by length and keyword.
first snowflakes launching
sweet southbound dreams and longings
~ travel posters call
AP: Honorable Mention 2022
Rich
colors
fly away
Southbound birds too
Lovely November
of lonely skies
pink clouds glide
Sun sinks
rich
Smoking cigarettes while remaining patiently waiting
For the next bussing southbound to my local neighbouring.
Sun is setting while many warm colours in the sky are blending.
This evening I saw a bright lightning show on the way home.
This evening I'm going southbound on this crowded bus home.
This evening I'm once again leaving my lover at his own home.
Nebuchadnezzar of Babylon
ordered marinara with parmesan.
When he finished up his plate,
he burped and hopped a southbound freight.
Writing history can be a crime,
when you insist that it must rhyme.
aloft in the sky
this cloudless day
the stream
of southbound planes
x marks the spot
where you stood
a linger inside
my thoughts
a tender touch
in fingered breeze
your breath
upon my flesh
a blush within
a wayward sun
setting to my west
August is fading
lushest blooms kiss a fierce sun
sudden surprise chills
standoff of seasons
spicy fragrance thrills both sides
butterfly bliss hides
skies still berry blue
melancholy wake up call
honking geese southbound
a brightly stained world
all of nature is colors
changing endlessly
I had a lover once, just one,
espied through misted panes
from my corner loft,
above the grocery store.
His lanky gait would pause
for the Southbound No.3.
and though I wished,
with all my heart,
he’d lift his head from down,
the passing years have
have brought no more
than a greying shade of brown.
September is here
With skies bright and clear.
Summer birds will be southbound.
Cooler breezes near.
School football we cheer.
The young quarterback is downed.
Parents go berserk,
Call player a jerk
For manhandling their loved son.
The ref's not a shirk,
Is good at his work,
Says no infraction was done.
Her Ship Made It Home
He set sail to her port going southbound
through choppy sea swells to rarefied ground.
With wind at his back he picked up steam
navigating the channel, eyes a gleam.
Her beacon of light lead his way by rote
as howls of wind whistled to all she wrote.
6x10
connie pachecho
1/25/17
Seaward seeking...on a voyage finding LOVE
Empty hands and heart left me with none to LOSE
But somewhere southbound, the compass left me LOST
No bearing back or finding that....which I wanted MOST
Rocking through vengeful waves, blinded by the MIST
A Map of loves failed pursuit... balled up in my FIST
Pulled in wet dripping nets, with not one FISH
Alone on the other end
of a call that just hung up
Turning off his phone as he
reaches to fill a cup
Time again being here
reunited with burdened luck
This moment is no different
getting into the truck
Pulling onto a highway
to avoid a southbound train
Looking only at darkness as
his eyes turn to rain
Life gave him no more
reasoning to be who he knew
Just like the social cliché
ending in fate for two
My father left this rocky coast
Upon a southbound brigantine;
To make his fortune, he did boast,
Six months along the Argentine.
A lighthouse lit our lonely cove
For more than fifty years in all.
The beacon of my mother’s love
N’er quenched a night, as I recall.
Long have I scanned the sky;
My sons have come and gone. I cry:
“O, who shall carry on the light
That shone in mother’s eyes, so bright?”
I carry my elegant pain,
lost in the middle
from the south of
American continent...
On the night of my destination,
this pain was once my dream...
I left on a southbound train
and I became beatnik,
then I was a hippie,
believed in flower power...
I don't inhale or smoke...
My drug actually is poetry...
My chic pain is this,
of time traveler, I carry it
as a youth treasure,
of a million dollars,
not in exchange, not selling,
this pain,
is my piece of art... !
October has swept in, bedazzling the trees
with a special magic as again her spell she weaves.
In and out she waltzes as she touches all their leaves.
Crimson, gold and orange dance with her on the breeze.
Also on the breeze there glide flocks of southbound geese
as the sky becomes at eventide a fantasy -
blue now turning tangerine – beautiful to see!
I pause to savor it and feel my soul at peace.
Oct. 3, 2020
for Julia Ward's A Flock Of Birds Poetry Contest
riding in Amtrak
southbound to San Diego
viewing scenic coast
Be with my Mommy sometimes on weekend.
The time for the two of us, when we tend
to act like silly girls.
Dancing, doing some twirls
while singing karaoke songs we shared.
she has been gone for years; but our times together live on, I miss her.
1/22/22 Charlie Hai-Lim-Ku Poetry
Charles Messina
Used: How Many Syllables (5/7/5 - 10/10/6/6/10 - 17)
RhymeZone