Short Tasseled Poems
Short Tasseled Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Tasseled by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Tasseled by length and keyword.
Sumptuous sensual satin surroundings
Treasured plush, palatial, plushy pillows
Upholstered sofas, tasseled tapestries
Valued prized spoils of war
Wealthy coffers of the lucky highborn
Barney backpack,
Cowboy Boots,
Little tow-head
boy.
Tasseled hat,
Winners robe,
Fine young
man.
Issued backpack,
Army boots,
Future straight
ahead.
I'll be okay when
you leave, Then cry
when I can.
Noble, regal tasseled turkey
prominent, pendulous wattle,
garb of iridescent feathers,
and bright red dangly snood.
Your stately gait pleases my eye
and your beloved, peculiar gobble
sends particular pleasure to my ear
May you forever strut your stuff(ing)!
Hello Today
My blinds read aglow___|
as if illuminated loose leaf__|
I'm drawing the tasseled strings_|
with a hearty anticipatory hopeful _ |
Precious Lord what might today bring_ |
a dancing queen called nette onclaud
rocked hip hop steps in tasseled shroud
she leapt in thin air
wind blew her false hair...
shaved head bowed to a cheering crowd
*yayy! *
©
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CONTEST: PD’s Slick Limerick
A flute played in the rain
splashing through puddles of memory
as if it were insane.
They peered from feather huts
others from dusty drapes.
When a cloud halts in spasm
rainbow withers fast away.
The postman never noticed,
that he'd tossed false sparkle
over the growing gray.
Time only takes notice
upon deaths tasseled sashay...
when mud puddles glitter
as flutes plays in the rain.
Tonight I'll saddle up the scorpion
kicking to hell its armored flanks
ratchet legs charging straight ahead
poison lance hovering above my head
claws snapping at the cooling desert wind,
hunting for fiery pieces of moon-tinged sin.
I'll romp with a band of glass-blown vamps
in Bosh's tasseled garden of earthly delights-
Come sunrise, I'll dismount my poisonous tank
don a tie and ride a three-piece suited Pegasus.
The corn is sweeping low;
her tasseled head is bent,
as dying souls lament
about the waning glow.
This life too quickly fades,
thin mists that pale the glade.
In furrows dark and dry,
the kernels, hard, that fall
beneath the autumn squall,
now lie alone. Awry
the seed the wind propelled
to propagate the veld.
So life reflects the corn
that dies to bloom reborn.
Copyright, August 16, 2015
Faye Lanham Gibson
Twirling their flashing batons in a fabulous fashion
Two high steppers with tasseled boots led the parade
All of us third grade girls wanted white boots now
And a full short skirt with matching panties
And naturally, the giant glitzy light up baton.
Only one of us got a light up baton
It was too heavy for her to lift
which was a bit of consolation for the rest of us.
Especially those of us who had not gotten the boots either.
In the meadow
I am alive
hair tasseled
From my lover
The summer rain
begins to fall
Washing away secret kisses
Planted heavily on my rose lips
My tortured soul
Awaits our next adventure
Till then your name
Weighs heavy on my heart
Hurting for my soul-mate
To come and find me
In the meadow
Where the weeping willow hides
Our nakedness and tickles our necks
As we are free
From all the onlookers
Who scorn at our flirtation
So, you think I'm cold and distant.
You're right, I am.
But sometimes life sprinkles ice
over the fabric of the heart.
It may take a couple of lifetimes to thaw.
If it does happen to soften,
there's always that rogue storm cloud.
Hovering just above the healing hearth.
Waiting to smack the spirit with darkness.
What's your role in all this?
To lend a quilt-offer an ember.
Flaunt your winter tasseled breast
add shallow shine to this slushy mess.
In the rear view is a big slab rider in
tiger prints on the open road.
Off the pike and down the route, I
see my breath she sees the inside of
a brain bucket lid.
Crispy corn snakes slither between those
bubble gum wheels, I see my breath she
parts the fog with hot drag pipes.
Her gore-tex grips those tasseled ape hangers, in
armor head to toe.
The silence breaks into four-banger parade,
I see my breath she lets off the
binder and flogs up the dawn.
Leaving behind buckling barns leaning in weeds grown high,
Tin roofs toned by flaking rust and balanced precariously
On scaly lumber of storm-washed gray,
Endless rows of tan tasseled corn and browning soybeans—
A darkened clump of distant trees,
A froth of dust billowing up behind a dented truck
Held togehter by fading patchwork seams—
When the mind sketches impressions
With farewell glances,
And creates masterpieces from
Emotions thick with vanishing color,
Goodbyes become brutal paintings.