Short Stucco Poems
Short Stucco Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Stucco by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Stucco by length and keyword.
Yellow stucco-walled, for house;
That in front warm-paved.
Brightly blazing, pot on pot
Here and there seed-saved.
Of Summer, what is gazed through
In its setting's lace
Can but, in feminizing
Enhance, dear, your face.
COMING TOO SOON
by H.B.Ussach
Popping up like pre-fab stucco-concrete-aluminum posies,
Poking up on parking lots as donut shops and quick lubes,
They are plain, utilitarian, proletarian low-low-price bunkers
On a retail war-weary land.
Royal sigh of prettiness; a dreamy flame
Sunbeam stars - cream house its frame
Purples rappel down the stucco siding
Creeping phlox, magnanimous tiding
Ruby-throated hummingbirds near it
Wise flowers attend to one’s spirit
Hit your head against the proverbial wall
Your everyday Nafferti in stucco
carries the wind
but being only seventeen
whose opinions ran counter to the realm
Pale daughters yawn diligently
They've lost the art of commitment
Are they truly free ?
Talking in whispers
the World does not care
poor
compliments
abound
nothing
put
into
words
peeling
stucco
fading
into
the unconscious
an
absence
of
atmosphere
careless
sentiments
of
the
austere
too
vague
surreal
elementary
&
the
unreal
.
and i look'd
look
piercingly
mine see fix'd
az
stucco
az the skill'd plasterer
haz laid
I
mine eyne
lock'd
knowingly
unto hern
flesh
crumpet
bit of fluff
don't put me
into that category
the way you blinked
today made
me realize
that you
are far
too
beautiful
to look at
when the sun
is whispering and
shining through the
curtain and stucco wall
your jugular bulges in the
circaidian
metronome
anticipatory
appreciable way
we look at the
moment
and love each other
for today
if only
that
Lord, these oak woods
are more beautiful than anything
they’ve built with stucco
and wrought-iron
on the hill’s opposing side.
I’d love to live here, Lord,
among your grasses. But I wince
at every shovel-stroke. I know
the first fence circumscribes
the grace of summer-tide.
Who keeps a gate on Nature?
The frogs that swell their song
at evening, or the breeze in pines?
Every night, Earth twists
beneath us. Lord, with us abide.
Trees scream:
night birds cry.
Power lines hum
like locusts.
In my sleeplessness
I float on still air.
My skin is stucco.
The heart lies dormant.
From this window
roof tops stand
in hazy moonlight.
They metastasize
and I grow smaller.
My hair is shake,
my fingernails, tile.
The outside calls.
Leaves, be my ears.
Return me
from my structure.
But I am mute;
I no longer speak
that language.
I converse
in drywall
and plaster,
have learned
to function
on the moon.