Short Surer Poems
Short Surer Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Surer by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Surer by length and keyword.
Known for 'selfies' was Albrecht Durer
in his day none were more surer
Painted 'photos' were his sure thing
fame then&now to him thay did bring
Memory kills time,
as time kills life…
Faster than a paid assassin,
colder than a dream that’s stolen
—surer than the tax man knows
(Dreamsleep: March, 2022)
I am not sure
how I feel today,
but I am surer
of what I felt yesterday
Each moment
and the next
I have built---
all that we have
In all it's reflexivity.
Each day that passes is one day closer
To that joyous season when we roll in clover
Smell the spring air
Feel like a millionaire
Absolutely best season, there's nothing more surer
Each day that passes is one day closer
To that joyous season when we'll roll in clover
Smell the spring air
Feel like a millionaire
Best season by far, there's nothing more surer
© Jack Ellison 2016
Nights are beautiful with stars and moon,
but I love day with its bright sun,
my vision is clear and my step surer,
I can see all around, the smiles and the tears.
Then night comes and the day is gone.
The sky is beautiful but...
I stumble and fall.
Give me a choice and it day for me any day.
The older I get
the more I know,
everything starts as a prayer
The older I get
the more I’m indebted
to a voice that I can share
The older I get
the surer I am
that life begins and ends
The older I get
the richer the words
—that spoken live again
(The Book Of Prayers: September, 2020)
The poet dies, but does not die
If he has left a line
Black inked upon enduring page
Or lingered on the mind.
With no thought than to see it grow,
The gardener plants a tree,
His immortality assured,
Shade for posterity.
We each must find unique approach
To prove that we were here;
No surer way than nurtured child
In whom our truths appear.
Why would one ask,
If the carving of a mask
Is, indeed, a task
When to simply this question ask
Is itself a task?
Mask carvers in their job bask,
Their wine glasses beside a cask,
Their African salad in their flask,
Their own faces a beatific Mask…
Sweet styles of reducing the heat
From a long sitting on a seat,
A surer method of catching ones breath
Man’s enacting of the lion’s stealth.
To another woman he shall surely switch,
The present one definitely ditch,
His voice at its most embarrassing pitch,
Now naming her ‘White Witch,’
Soon renaming her ‘Black ,’
Curious passersby to never know “which? “
Nor why his nostrils flare and twitch,
A bit believing that this might be flesh and its itch
And a great deal surer that he’s stinking rich:
The level of Affluence judged a down-dragging hitch,
Worse than Tyson’s landed punch on Green Mitch!