Short Unaccustomed Poems
Short Unaccustomed Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Unaccustomed by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Unaccustomed by length and keyword.
The room is warm and round,
the fire at the center.
I sit still
suddenly unaccustomed to my limbs.
And my failing heart falters
under your gaze
like a warm caress across my face.
Azzure night calls
rush blurry eyes
Pigeons came a calling
Waterloo I curse you
morning came a sneaking
The unaccustomed scratch gilded fear
Suited clad
screeches the acceptable
Strange exiles disowns the Thames
Golden dream of my recreate heart,
alike sui juris chow coram craving character .
Lacquey unaccustomed grow dumb art,
endure canoodling for chronic creature.
Reimbursing my biotic lacunae part,
gotta exhibit usance's unblemished picture.
Losing the world, leaving behind
Its collective static
One gains, where only the wind blows
A companion - in soul.
Through each response, unaccustomed
Felt, at depths, sensitized
To what gives voice to, treed and grassed
The Lord of all - whole.
Winter Winds
Everything withered, dead
Thin blood, unaccustomed to the cold
Impatient
Bitter, Wishing for warmth
Shivering in a burrow of snow
Then, came You
Rain showers, soft soil, sun
You are a flowered field in the Spring
Beginning
Like tadpoles sprouting legs
You are bullfrog songs in the moonlight
3/7/2021
Images in Parallel Contest
Come and see the bright wildflowers
Carpeting a sloping glen
And know that the desert endures!
Note how it's unrecognizable
Come March to the unaccustomed
When spring makes a spectacle
Except for some saguaros
That give the habitat away -
Standing on the ledge they chose.
Poppies and chuparosa beam -
Even the palo verdes celebrate
By tossing up confetti.
Unaccustomed to the lingo
yet accustomed to the bling so
let it roll and rock and rot
regardless of the highbrow wot...
or china crystalled silver settings
designed Lenox gauche, just sayin' nothing
compared to what us fair groomed got
thank Daddy for the polyglot.
Of myth and spit and hum-drudgery
of how things never used to be
is time to wake up. Hope we do
'cause I'd like to live on, would you?
Being careful with the sugar, Mr. Thomas?
Perhaps, Mrs. Maggie. My health has done me so. But I’ll have you know, the new bitterness
does quite wake me.
So you prefer the blackness of your coffee to caress the crisp scent of morning?
Ah, and let me tell you how much sweeter it is, this morning.
I am quite puzzled.
No, just unaccustomed.
To what am I unaccustomed, Mr. Thomas?
Death, Mrs. Maggie.
Heart aflutter
senses untethered
wholesomeness challenged
unfamiliar feeling
naïve and innocent
Unaccustomed to this attention
did he mean me? Am I the one?
Bad boy, wandering back into my
ready-to-be-sensuous mind.
Making my daydreams crazy.
The familiar fearless soul dance as
The bad boy takes his naive victim hostage
breathless sensation, for silly reasons.
Putting myself in danger, but why?
My, the frightfully threatening roll
of the foreign tongue
inexplicable, rapid fire
shrapnel to the unaccustomed ear
proceeding, ever forward
in an unintelligible tirade.
Ears ache for understanding
Eyes strain for common ground
no single sigil or symbol recognizable.
My Lord, to be so alone, so lost
so must we journey, infants all,
landing without fan fair
on distant shores, seeking only
love and acceptance.
I’m sitting by the river,
Just relaxing on a bench,
When I’m suddenly accosted
By an unaccustomed stench.
I look around but do not see
A reason for the smell.
It’s coming from the water, then,
As far as I can tell.
The question that I pose myself
Is – what am I to do?
Sacrifice olfactory nerves
Or sacrifice the view?
In life, it’s not all positives
That come to us each day.
The rippling waves have tipped the scales –
I’ll hold my nose and stay!
How unaccustomed am I
To the touch of my own hand
on my face
How unaccustomed
To droplets on my skin
And playfully drenched hair
As I dance in the rain
Unaccustomed
To the light of a candle
The shapes of clouds
And fullness in a starry sky
How unaccustomed
To the fragrant scent
of homemade cookies;
the smell of home
How unaccustomed am I
To the chime of a tinkling bell,
My mother's voice
And the sight of my own reflection
Listen to poem:
Vagabond Conquistadors
David J Walker
Having wept
And slept
At the bottom of the canyon
I’ve become the climber
Of mountains
Where I may see for myself
The residents of the clouds
And find that
It is a lonely place
Unaccustomed to the resonances
Of habitation as
It moves on
Without the vagabond
conquistadors
Claiming clouds
in the name of Christ
I have flown and fallen twice
For the believers of fables who
Know only what the hear on Earth
Dreams Deferred
My Dreams have always been to travel around the globe.
Dreams Deferred? Perhaps
My dream is to possibly become an author, second-guessing and duped. Dreams Deferred? Perhaps
Unguarded decisions, false evidence appears real. Dreams
Deferred? Perhaps
Guilty by association, recognized toxic faces, unaccustomed places, I'm at a crossroads. Dreams
Deferred? Perhaps
Trust shattered yet my heart has not desensitized. Dreams
Deferred? Perhaps