Short Stalwarts Poems
Short Stalwarts Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Stalwarts by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Stalwarts by length and keyword.
Spring’s budding, branching arbors,
saplings to sappy seniors,
are all stalwarts with ringed hearts
and life giving leaves.
(inspired by Francine Roberts' contest) 5/24/11
'LINDA' and 'SKAT', are two of the group
Who welcomed me warmly to 'Poetry Soup'
They are poetic Sisters with different names
Who are supportive stalwarts and creative dames
To all fellow 'Soupers', I'm so pleased to say
That I'm happy to join you and in my own way
I'll be writing more soon but it's here I must pause
While I give you my thanks and a round of applause.
From distant lands
comes help unlooked - for
Arriving in tall vessels
Legions of stalwarts
arrive on our shores
The battles will surely be won
Just as we aided our allies in
the past
So they will aid us in the future
Does it seem we deserve their help?
Yes, it does!
So, onward ye peoples
Joy will come
When the savage foe
is finally put to rest
And peace will rule the stars!
These garden escapes, hardy stalwarts,
have legged it from the border -
they have said goodbye to the shade-loving ferns
and broken free from the boundary wall
to seed in chippings, chesil slack,
a no-man's land by the standing trucks
blushing like children at the station box
who trespass for kicks in forbidden plots,
the place moire beautiful than ever before
because of their bright bravado.
Colors of fall
yellow, orange, red and brown
and then unending drop.
I used to laugh on unheard jokes.
The crowd thins
as tall stalwarts
autumn-wished, begin to shed
the pretentions.
The naked spirit roars on the hill.
Age will be no bar,
the war is still on –
stitching the tears.
I can hear the whispers.
It was the shirt of death,
which you want to put on
and play the game for charity.
SATISH VERMA
Colors of fall
yellow, orange, red and brown
and then unending drop.
I used to laugh on unheard jokes.
The crowd thins
as tall stalwarts
autumn-wished, begin to shed
the pretentions.
The naked spirit roars on the hill.
Age will be no bar,
the war is still on –
stitching the tears.
I can hear the whispers.
It was the shirt of death,
which you want to put on
and play the game for charity.
SATISH VERMA
Form:
Hilary was in a killing hurry,
Not wanting to miss a math class,
In her growing worry
Shattered a glass!
Now, she must favor curry
With two stalwarts
Who wouldn’t let this pass:
Humiliation-loving Harry
Who sat his offenders on time-consuming grass
And pain-inflicting twin Larry
Who could crush a not too mischievous lass.
You take it, then,
One never knows when
One is likely to a journey in a killing hurry
Tidy up before does a rickety lorry.
Drifted deep in wintry dark
she's in decline, as useless
as a sailboat in a storm.
Once a haven for hikers,
a shelter for stalwarts and strays
'til the mountains gave summons;
now forlorn and disregarded,
like a maiden aunt too old and to no purpose,
though winsome in her former days
when she was quite the prize,
the belle of every ball, envied by all.
"If those walls could only speak!" they say,
as they quickly pass on by,
not giving her a second glance.
Drifted deep in wintry dark
she's in decline, as useless
as a sailboat in a hurricane.
Once a haven for hikers,
a shelter for stalwarts and strays
'til the mountain gave summons,
now forlorn and disregarded,
like a maiden aunt, too old and without purpose,
though winsome in her former days
when she was quite the prize,
the belle of every ball, envied by all.
"If those walls could speak!" they say,
as the hikers pass her by,
never offering a second glance.
Drifted deep in wintry dark
she's in decline, as useless
as a sailboat in a storm.
Once a haven for hikers,
a shelter for stalwarts and strays
'til the mountains gave summons;
now forlorn and disregarded,
like a maiden aunt too old and to no purpose,
though winsome in her former days
when she was quite the prize,
the belle of every ball, envied by all.
"If those walls could only speak," they say,
as they quickly pass on by,
not giving her a second glance.
Drifted deep in wintry dark
she's in decline, as useless
as a sailboat in a storm.
Once a haven for hikers,
a shelter for stalwarts and strays
'til the mountains gave summons;
now forlorn and disregarded,
like a maiden aunt too old and to no purpose,
though winsome in her former days
when she was quite the prize,
the belle of every ball, envied by all.
"If those walls could only speak!" they say,
as they quickly pass on by,
not giving her a second glance.
Drifted deep in wintry dark
she's in decline, as useless
as a sailboat in a storm.
Once a haven for hikers,
a shelter for stalwarts and strays
'til the mountains gave summons;
now forlorn and disregarded,
like a maiden aunt too old and to no purpose,
though winsome in her former days
when she was quite the prize,
the belle of every ball, envied by all.
"If those walls could only speak!" they say,
as they quickly pass on by,
not giving her a second glance.
Drifted deep in wintry dark
she's in decline, as useless
as a sailboat in a storm.
Once a haven for hikers,
a shelter for stalwarts and strays
'til the mountains gave summons;
now forlorn and disregarded,
like a maiden aunt too old and to no purpose,
though winsome in her former days
when she was quite the prize,
the belle of every ball, envied by all.
"If those walls could only speak!" they say,
as they quickly pass on by,
not giving her a second glance.
Drifted deep in wintry dark
she's in decline, as useless
as a sailboat in a storm.
Once a haven for hikers,
a shelter for stalwarts and strays
till the mountains gave summons,
now forlorn and disregarded,
like a maiden aunt too old and to no purpose,
though winsome in her former days
when she was quite the prize,
the belle of every ball, envied by all.
"If those walls could speak!" they say
as they quickly pass on by,
seldom giving her a second glance.