Short Statuette Poems

Short Statuette Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Statuette by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Statuette by length and keyword.


Blooded Honey

Her face is like a marble statuette,
blank of expression, emotions beget.
Motionless throughout vicious verbal storms,
driven by not complying to shared norms.
Weep, weep, weep bladed tears of rusted blood,
the only nectar of a frozen bud.
Form: Couplet


Statuette

Hearts aplomb
limbs poised akimbo.

Staved frozen grass
which to sip
thy morn' dew









Picture inspired:
snow covered ground
with a small tree growing
bare branches except
for the red hearts blooming
on the tips of each branch

The Black Stallion

The black stallion is the
Most beautiful horse in the world
His black shiny coat
Glows with power and
His strength stands out
His strong legs moves
Like lighting and it makes
Him run like he floating on air
His stance is statuette
Which makes him mystical and
The leader of the pack
© Daisy Ward  Create an image from this poem.

The Black Stallion

The black stallion is the
Most beautiful horse in the world
His black shiny coat
Glows with power and
His strength stands out
His strong legs moves
Like lighting and it makes
Him run like he floating on air
His stance is statuette
Which makes him mystical and
The leader of the pack
© Daisy Ward  Create an image from this poem.

Sweet sparrow

I was sitting in my gallery
Nurturing my plants, watering them
A little sweet sparrow arrived
And landed on my shoulder
I got alert so that she didn't fly away
I behaved like a statuette
She kissed me on my cheeks with her beak,
I was astonished,I said thank you , please come again on next week
She chirped in my ear
And went away far from here


Canmore

Splashed carelessly aside 
poised, patiently resisting 
every earthen pull. Only you reside,
carved statuette persisting
tethered on stony mountain tops
asking much of fortunes favor.
Catching crisp sunlight, life stops  
upending sensibilities; labor 
like your brother Banff. Capture
all the beauty of the world,
record it for the rapture.

Sunday, January 17th, 2016
Form: Acrostic

If I Am the Judge

If I am the judge of my art
            That I sculpted chiseling my soul
       I know my emotions profusely fall as verses upon pages
             I pick metaphors facing brain storm
      I look for muses groping through thick mist of autumn
          To get the final statuette of my poem
   So ,if I am honoured the judge's chair
      I would use fair judgement to give it a placement
        
12/03/2019

''Horse Drawn Dreams''

Daddy bought me a filly named ''Champagne Taste''.
Smitten by the thought someday she would race.
Slender,sleek,course mane.
Shaped as elegant as a European statuette.
I trained,coached her every move.
Her strength with age continued to improve.
Thoroughbred beauty,your lifetime of wins.
Memories still remain in our trophy case.
Beloved horse I could never replace.



''A Horse Story'' Poetry Contest
sponsored by...Carol Brown

Black Sun

Witch hazel jumps the 
gun. Questions arise.
Why the cuckoo will not sing today ?

I am drumming the wall
raised between us,
opening a small window towards the sea.

Strange things happen.
Full moon was bleeding
Astringent. I call for the mountain’s music.

This fractured statecraft.
You become a stone after a blast;
moving towards the periphery.

Half-naked a statuette
was walking in night to find a 
mortuary where Apollo was laid to rest.


Satish Verma
art
Form: ABC

Grabbing It's Serpent By, His Tale

Into the abyss dust from lambent's heel....
Jelly goo betwixt his pew; amid toe tapping time
Holding tight her branch a farewll address he pleads
Tears flowing down touched their crowd; dae's bondman weeps
While Impetigo adjust fate's twined horns this cloth she kept love's red rose
Black cloaks white hoods pill'box pilgrims of ancient old dissipate presenting mastiff's
Statuette baby Bael hands reaching towards one another embraced and don't go papa: fade to gray.
Form:

Kenos Taphos

I was only a ragged bairn
When my death was born
When first became last
My carcass became dust

Across the cold, solemn limbo
sorrow was my only pillow
I was tacilty laid in peace
But my souls was never at ease

Coldness melted my broken pieces
After my breath dried the oases
I mourn not for my death
But for my sour and bitter fate

My gravemound was an absent site
No flowers, no wreath, no light
Only grassess and a solid trace
Of a falling statuette without a face
Form:

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