Short Tiled Poems
Short Tiled Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Tiled by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Tiled by length and keyword.
Mission jewel seen near ocean's close shore.
Place where white gulls fly and breaking waves roar.
Tiled roofs, colonnades all make a fine tour.
Show birds nesting
Babies resting
Priest are chanting, voices rising, they soar.
Form:
Last New Years,
We purchased a house...
Tossed carpets,
Painted rooms,
Replaced lawns with veg'tables.
Next year: new tiled floors!
and when I use a certain urinal, there's a
spot I focus on, on the tiled wall;
and everytime; an ant comes out, takes a
few turns, stops and looks directly at me,
and then retreats back into its hidden ant-home
am I really so banal?
Severed limbs on the tiled floor.
It has lost three legs.
I’ve no idea what occurred.
The spider waltzes around
its own chopped legs.
Now it weaves a web
around the mangled parts:
to eat them later?
Perhaps it has a plan.
How would I know?
Portraits of hedgehogs on his grimy tiled walls
Pete did for good taste what heat does for snow balls
Though a weird kind of charm lay on his carpeted floor
Not hedgehogs, but bedbugs as Pete flopped kissed him like whores
Ornamental gold
Heated scents, Ripening fruits
Montage of tiled lines
Flies buzzing in Autumn's heat
Tuscan's orange, greens and yellows.
(January 18, 2011 Wausau, Wisconsin)
(c) Copyright 2011 by Christine A Kysely, All Rights Reserved,
A whole house aired with dust
and dark twilight at every hour,
there was a mountain— tall as rust
that made me feel a coward.
There were cans and cans on
tiled floor? More dust and dirt
on towels. As a child, I clutched my teddy
bear, while inside I lost
some vowels.
A paraphrase is shadow's child,
slinking in hallway white tiled.
It wears the shape, fills not the skin,
Echoes of fullness are lost within.
It carries a bag of phrases worn,
Tired entrails of the still-born.
A life, once full, is now gone.
With no meaning counted on.
Could it be love when shadows overlap
Their beings blending, doubling to dark
Embracing tiled or terra cotta floor
Sliding silently as silhouettes of shame
Clinging to the still forbidden touch
Relishing the fevered heat of light
Cast upon this desperate aching need
To meld - a two so lonely - into one
In a small old temple
in the lone some hour
the tiled floor before the idol
silently echoed to me the prayers
of the poor people,
the prayers of the aged woman
since centuries back
In that solitude
it reflected in silence
their worries and pains
their faith and devotion
through generations passed.
My face tiled in rubbles
make my troubles visible,
result of my lamed fights,
became my life unfeasible.
Don't talk about my mojo,
if you don't like it,
it will chase you all the time,
if you don't stop it.
Child soldier Ishmael Beah,
who jumped to peace,
who let go the bullets,
to embrace world of man free.
Fear surrounds me; in his devious fog of doubt
His fickleness pretends to be my friend
Promising to protect me from a perilous end
Diminishing my courage into splintered heaps
I battle constantly; teetering on uncertainty
Piercing my vulnerability; Paralyzing my mobility
Stalking me on my primrose path
Tiled in miles of fool’s gold
In our family;
Like bunch of a key;
Where we said,
Tradition is must;
Debates went about,
Cutting down a palm tree;
Whose fruits fell,
On our tiled-roofs;
Left them leaking,
Through many monsoons;
Elders said no for long,
All, in leakages, did prong;
It's, then, the youngsters stood together,
Cut it down and saved the houses dear...!
Retired sweetness paints
a tiled mosaic of
unpredictable patterns.
Black, brown shapes
spatter the
grey concrete of
an underground kingdom.
The fresh ones burn
pink and seafoam
green against
this steely blue
and yellow lined world.
The stickiness clings
onto shining
out of spectrum,
before becoming
another dot
in dark masses.
Black Squirrels.....
Leave no shadow
Heads bowed in solemn faith
Cars weaving between stations of the
Cross; and old spanish tiled crypts
A glimpse, then another the casket lowered
The air, acrid with stinging ash of burnt metal; flesh
Fused with memories lost
© All Rights Reserved
09/25/13
Dreamily
she prances and preens as she floats,
paces the gleaming tiled floor,
admiring
images
of her other self, they seem so real,
yet quite surreal in soft, liquid
light,
reflections
on crystal facets, on mirrored prisms
of a glass closet exclusively
designed
for those
with galloping narcissism to pander to,
those awed and swept off the floor by
themselves.
They promised us bout phone and mobile,
But how bout network?
They promised us electricity at kainji dam,
But how bout stability.
They promised us bout democracy and independence,
But how bout good governance.
They promised us a cackoo with mutiple colors,
But they came only with its picture.
Pool of water on the tiled street:
Mirage of realism.
19:07:20:10:01
A supermarket carpark;
Sunday morning.
Flat amd empty as my breath.
A room tiled and bare,
a cell cool and angular,
all light hushed.
A circle of trees
Stand around me as a victim.
Head back I shout at the sky.
The Autobahn near Aschau.
Lights spot the midnight.
The few hidden from my touch.
Of course. The last one.
Through mist I hear soft voices.
My fingernails break on a sill.
capabilities high strung
hung out to dry in rain
soaking up heavy dust
mighty winds a capability
not caged just free
free for the nothing i can be
nothing is the rain
without dust to blow away
soak it up led astray
naught comes for nothing
and stillness is all
did it ever depart or arrive
am i even alive
like glue to a tiled roof of silk
blankly setting eyes
one way or another
nothing will happen
“You are most elegantly composed, so cleverly penned””
The poem breaks wind.
“Will others notice the wisdom I have poured into you?”
The poem begins to rummage in a kitchen drawer.
“You are the perfect child of my creative powers!”
It finds a knife, begins to vigorously saw
at priceless words.
“I think I love you."
It squats on the tiled floor and defecates.
Holding my nose
I carry it out of the house at arm’s length.
Nestled in the valley
with spring water fountains
a view of the mountains
San Sossio quaint and vibrant
Stucco colored houses
red roof tiled
on balconies pots in flower
graceful swallows in flight
My home on the ascent
at the edge of town serene
from fountain fetched the water
with neighbors bartered needs
Sparks of distant stars
memories of smiles and songs
history to repeat is known
village life will return
The Growing Trees
When I was a younger man,
So many years ago,
I looked out of the window
To see them in a row,
Well established conifers
Growing on the hill,
Level with a tiled roof
Beyond my window sill.
Today I paused reflecting,
Gazing through the glass.
I see the trees grew taller
As those years come and pass.
Their trunks are soaring upwards,
Crowns stark again the sky.
While they shall all continue on
My life is passing by.
An ache deeper than pain
Jealousy.
Damn the one who tempted me
You're irresistible
Dissolve in the acid bath, and
Appear to me as an apparition
Panic as my flesh melts at the sight of you
I've never seen your eyes quite wide
As mine roll from their sockets,
descending to the tiled floor,
Joining the collection of my bones,
bones and guts and eyes galore
I knew you wanted more than this
I knew you wanted more than this
The storm erupted
from a charcoal-bruised sky
lashing spindles
of platinum rain
upon an emerald heath
tossed in trenchant wind.
Among the hedgerows and linden
the first spires emerged
like shoots from turned loam
followed by the pitch
of tiled-stone roofs
and pewter walls
of lambent unblemished granite.
The damp auburn clay,
etched by a teal river,
birthed a soaring imperial city,
its cerulean patina to ever scintillate
in sun's timeless effulgence.
Singing through all lines,
In the dale and vine,
Hopping my glottis around,
Straining it to in joy abound.
Walking all miles,
Miles moistured and tiled,
Forcing undaunted gaze,
On the Angelic phase.
In such a strenuous search,
Curiosity did me lash,
Scolding my initiatives,
Urging me to be creative.
What I've I return'd with?
Gold...? Or an adventure wits:
So, do humans keep hunting,
For a thing that's equal to nothing.
17:09:21:19:25