Short Stock Still Poems
Short Stock Still Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Stock Still by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Stock Still by length and keyword.
Stock-still statues
Bucolic totem-poles
Munching fly-swatters
Lazily grazing ...
Invisible to driverless cars
How swiftly my thoughts fly now
to corduroy pants and caps
Facing a howling northeaster
whistles, the rally of hunting dogs
~ the pointer locked, stock-still
Why is it called ‘The Binding of Isaac’
if it was Father Abraham’s Final Test
Isaac demanded to be bound to the altar
to lie stock-still ~ Father would do the rest
It’s the silence war that’d always been fought
whether to say yes or no to the thought
Give it a try? It might hurt…
Stand stock-still? Nothing will divert
but at the end its experience they’d brought.
When I stole a ball
from the corner store
Who are you
A voice stirred from within
When I told my best friend
a bold-faced lie
Who are you
A voice tugged from within
As I raised a hand
to strike my child
Who are you
A voice cried from within
As my good wife let me know
she'd reached the end of her rope
That voice lay stock still
~ I'd not done God's will
i stink of sin
so loud everyone
knows------
as the awe grows
i shrink
baby steps toward
the brink
of here & now-
today is yesterday
& my papercut still
bleeds through pages
--- i saw inside,
cages in masses tied
sidebyside, rattling,
ringing through ears--
fears are wasted
tears, corrosive &
destructive- mirrors
reflecting pasts off
one another-
mother, may i hide
between trees? stand
stock still, undercover,
so nobody sees?
They run to catch an errant ball
Then crouch or stand stock still
Until they need to pass a spare
Or towel, if you will.
They’re meant to be invisible;
They do their madcap dash
And rush back to their places
Quicker than a camera flash.
Their caps are meant to cover up
Their crewcuts, dreads or curls
And nowadays, to be PC,
Some ball boys might be girls!
(written while watching the men’s final
at the Australian Open Tennis Match)
Awake from a slumber
Raise head above parapet.
You then stand stock-still, a sad
Sorry being.
Live your days
And soon months as a shadow.
An unreachable figure.
Why speak? You're not profound
Do not dream as a Rimbaud,
Or long for a Verlaine.
It's the ending you fear.
That time passed speaks off a yearning
And wallowed in romance. Love becomes
A strange thing that twists and cuts.
For what we call love
Is but the shudder of lust
On any youth's shoulder.