Short Unstitched Poems
Short Unstitched Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Unstitched by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Unstitched by length and keyword.
My Poem still an open wound,
unstitched by edits snare
Running free on a salted page,
—new blood for all to share
(James River Writers Conference: October, 2016)
My Poem still an open wound,
unstitched by edits snare
Running free on a endless page
—new blood for all to share
(James River Writers Conference: October, 2016)
Poor in stock but rich in spirit,
my clock does bow and sway
In rags and tatters all unstitched,
with joy do I still pray
My flesh is weak, my home now burnt
just embers to remind
That within this trouble and burning ash,
on the hour
—my heart still chimes
(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2015)
Poor in stock yet rich in spirit,
my clock does bow and sway
In rags and tatters all unstitched,
with joy do I still pray
My flesh is weak, my home now burnt
just embers to remind
Within this trouble and burning ash,
on the hour
—my heart still chimes
(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2015)
‘From The Book Of Prayers’
I am a pick pocket
Unstitched pocket empty house
Plan to go for a date
Rain is high crash umbrella
Stale food is not in My life
I suvre with love to her
I have two pockets one is empty
Another I found my self that demands of her High like rocket booster a smile I hide My tooth in My pocket and called pick pocket.
With love all
Jagdish bajantri
Unstitched, you visit
my navel, without
warning. There were
bloody stains. I made
no surrender. The bullet
went very deep.
Sovereignty was at stake.
I sit like Buddha
under a raging moon –
invoking the spirits. An
irreverence bites me, scares
me to the bones.
Glitch. I lost the vision.
The nude version was
very pure, very sane.
Satish Verma
Listen to poem:
One tipple too far,
barely enough to notice
made the first tile sound—
morning lost its clean edges
as choices became fuzzy.
The path did not break,
it merely curved a little
toward softer ground—
resolve missed a few heartbeats
dominoes fell step by step.
By dusk the tale unfolded,
not a great calamity—
a trail of slip-ups
from loose threads left ungathered
that slowly unstitched the day.
The Question I Posed ….
If your Poem is still
an open wound
And you stitch it tight
with editing
How…
will it ever bleed free?
(James River Writer’s Conference: October, 2016)
The Actual Poem ….
For All To Share
My Poem still an open wound,
unstitched by edits snare
Running free on a salted page,
—new blood for all to share
(James River Writers Conference: October, 2016)
You steal pieces of me and yet make me whole:
First, you remove the eyes
Every time you walk into the room
Then the ears
With the melodies of your voice, and your infectious laughter
Next you take the brain
With all the thoughts, dreams, and memories of you
Then the skin
That longs for the warmth of your touch
And the feet
That want to follow every step you take
And finally
My heart
That will only and always belong to you