Short Strewed Poems
Short Strewed Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Strewed by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Strewed by length and keyword.
ivy purrs as wind's tendrils weave
chorus frogs and other wildlife
Monet flowering lilies run
pulling on nature's essence strings
leaves strewed received aspire pilgrimage
down rivers freely flow; sunshine bestowed
2/28/2017
Haiku
Burgundy sunset
A pink band of cerulean clouds
Clear day tomorrow
Haiku
He shot at the sun
Hot liquid fell on his head
An Olympic torch
Haiku
The moon in good mood
Strewed silver on Birch trees
To benefit beauty
Messy? A child at home word.
Not this crone's, outside.
Whose own litter, leaf ,log-felled
When least by repelled.
Whilst strewed with shrieked delight, not
Demented fury!
And heard, laughed for us, as sore;
Kicked through; and jumped o'er!
I turned and stood to face it;
fingers ran all over me;
arms of the wind wrapped around
and played music in my ears.
Tattered stratus strewed the sky,
above me dragged and shredded
Droplets pricked my tingling skin,
blown out from clouds to cleanse me.
A mode of transportation
By which low class pair
Does feel so raised in status
Reserved to deem it
For queeny Love, fit!
Waist coated, by one handled
Grandly debonair.
Open carriaged, a route a-float!
As smooth, sweet praise-strewed
Lily-avenued!
Melbourne
This August has gone away
like our childhood –
calmly and almost by chance.
The sky had too many stars
and strewed the earth with them.
I stretched my hands to them,
I tried to catch them.
But they were burning
without any smoke or sound.
And August went away.
Drawing up its seating
Of relaxation
By what tree-blown, o'erflown
Of pleasure cloud, bird
Do these cities, coarse-heard
Graciousness take on.
How more so, park-guided
Down whose paths are, nights
Albeit eve's chill lit
Old-style lamped! Warmer!
For its theatre's farther,
Cafe's, pub's strewed lights.
Melbourne
Cold snow covered all tombs and lanes,
Still he strewed the coffin with sprays
of flowers, to lessen his pains.
He uttered a few words of praise.
But snow showers
Buried flowers.
He recited poetic strains
Could only look down in a daze.
Hot tears fell upon her remains
Yet snow veiled all in a cold haze,
Irked and harried,
All sprays buried.
I sense them calling through my chest.
Their counsel in my head.
Through thin winds shining shellfish light
I'm shown the way in red.
Their dead sound calmly drawing down
a crescent chambered brood.
As isolation fills me sad
with scars a park has strewed.
That everywhere I think I can
I'll look where more should be.
And everywhere I hope I can
accept that 13th tree.
Outside of the city where the pomegranates grow,
With large citrus orchards perfuming the air,
I met my true love on a blossom strewed pathway.
My heart gave a leap when I saw him draw near.
He held me so tight underneath blooming tree
As he planted his kisses all over my face.
We met in the city where the pomegranate grows
And we'll wed in the valley where the scented wind blows.
She loved
broken things
like she loved
the petals
of withered roses,
that scattered
for their own funeral
like strewed confetti-
which a lover
may have dropped
unintentionally
or intentionally-
crushed
under branded shoes
and under the wheels
of the cars
driven
by unsparing drivers
who aren’t troubled
by squeezing life
out of humans,
let alone a flower;
and she called it
‘modern art’.
Paws for thought
Broken in pieces strewed across the floor
Each piece a memory of what has been before
I look through the window as it is now raining and beginning to pour
I look into the garden as I have done many times to see and adore
All things are broken but the sunshine still comes through the door
I will remember the times we had forever like the first time you sat on me and held your little paw.
she is so far
speaking without hearing
and he passes between the days
of life
in the tremolos semi shadows
dreams her
but she is leafing through
another book
strewed with hieroglyphs
she wants to find out
and divines
on the entrails of sacrificial animals
the ancient priestess
but there is no future and time
he remains
like an insane stone
thrown at random
and the wind forwards him
in a dream of an edelweiss
An old crinkled piece of paper
Yellowed with age laid in a box;
Sixteen Indian-head pennies
(Their luster as if newly mints)
Were strewed atop the aged pulp.
Being a curious fellow
That I am (more aptly a snoop)
I slipped the old stationary
From the seemingly ancient box
And began to read its content:
Dear Master Robert Hemingway,
Enclosed in this small cedar box
Are the pennies you requested
Each dated eighteen hundred sixty .
Yours truly, Abraham Lincoln.
Rose blossoms, petals flourish,
most colourful in its peak;
A time also comes,
When petals wither,
And fall on land;
Rose lives or dies,
is rarely kept in mind;
life is mortal one day all to die;
Aroma strewed in environ,
relished and adored is it's virtue,
Becomes memory for all;
Life and death is trivial,
But the deeds during life,
Is momentous;
imprints virtues in mind;
Rose blossoms, petals flourish...
most colourful in its peak...
© Sadashivan Nair,