Short Steppe Poems
Short Steppe Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Steppe by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Steppe by length and keyword.
RUSSIA
Moose crossing the frozen Yenesei
Thawing lake and lonely level forest
Bear picking a summer berry
Gold dome over the autumn steppe at rest
A flaming torch in the setting west
This measureless waste
Traversed alone
Of what does for a vagrant
Always bemoan.
Speak I not russian
Nor do, kazakh.
That heard of this wind species
Was it passed on
Through eagle's, harrier's quick
Decoding knack.
Blue Wolf...
A free people, like the wind they blow,
A generous steppe, a wondrous folk.
Today, like a young wolf, they whimper,
Suffering under the world's yoke.
The cruel century has surely made the people weep,
Casting fear.
It has taken away their strength and might,
Their spirit crushed, crumbled like flour,
You have departed, my dear land, lost to time!
Forbidden, sacred sight!
Potala gleaming white
Reflecting Asian light;
A shrine of mystic might.
The monks conspire inside
Old Lhasa’s palaced pride,
With mummies spiced and dried,
Reviving priests who’ve died.
Tibetian spirits raise
And cast resentful rays
Through memory’s thick haze;
Avengers from old days.
They float across the air,
Descending when and where
The unbelievers dare
Not worship them, nor care.
I'm nothing else
that an intermediary
between healing and disillusionment...
I am unwritten verse
when I'm not understood...
I'm a steppe wolf howl
when I provoke strangeness...
I just wanted to be a simple door
that offers passage,
Window that shows landscapes...
I wanted to be answers
to all dreams
and daydreams, raptures
of ecstasy...
love and passion for
who needs,
however, I'm just
a bitter-sweet being
not blissful,
not overly sad,
I am only, Poet... !
Sounds rained from heaven.
Not insignificant words
like drizzle falling lightly
on steppe or Alpine slope,
but serious sounds:
fists of hail that reduced
the Sinai Mountain into
arid grains of sand.
But they did not understand.
Metalanguage still
precipitates into wars,
confusion reigns and
the vernacular is drowned
in Dead Seas of babble.
Semanticists argue over
the connotation of borders,
and megatons disrupt the heavens.
Still, they do not understand.