Short Washed Out Poems

A Rushing Creek.A beavers' broken dam.Washed Out Gully....

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A
washed-out
lethargy-
the blues fill the
room

Ekphrasis on Caulfield...

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What becomes of a poem
       squeezed, wrung out
       to beat a deadline...
  
       Just like the poet
     ~ It's all washed-out...

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••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Moon is hung over

the same scene she lit last night

washed out at sunrise


••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••...

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My turnover, leafy cheek saw and salvaged
From Autumn's remains— this Winter's surgery,
White stitchery for washed-out color; dead cells...
               ...nip bright for scars on...

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The itsy bitsy spider went up the water spout.
Along came the rain and washed the spider out...
Silly spider, of course he got washed out -
so now that arachnid can just sit and pout!...

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The light is window
morning balance,
black and grey.

Last night`s pub
washed out with dark tea,
pull the chain,pat the keys.

The front door shuts
unwillingly, steps are cold ;
time for the ghosts....

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pale
washed out
tired..
empty
      vibrancy
departed,
         so uneasy
traumatised:
energy
     d
       w
         i
          n
           d
            l 
             e
              s
....age
takes its toll...

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My bright pink hat has faded 
To a washed-out-looking shade.
The sun has done a number;
It looks awful, I'm afraid.

Yet still, I plop it on my head
Though it is far from new
For if we're being honest, well,
I'm pretty faded, too....

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blowing thousands of dandelions
into the fading day
you stand out from the crowd
floating in my orbit

trillions of smiles with bright teeth
washed out by anchor eyes
sharp hooks pull me in

baby's breath wrapped around burning fingers
the feel of your skin lingers...

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My own proverb...


Fools cannot be proud because their knowledge are always washed out in the ocean.
Either Idiots cannot be wise because their behavior are always down to the hell.

Ravi Sathasivam / Sri Lanka
All rights are reserved 2016 @ Ravi Sathasivam...

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You can't grow in the grace and knowledge of The Lord
          while holding onto tides washed out to sea
                           or billows rolled away!






You have no right to expect great and mighty things, 
       if you love not The Great and Mighty King!

(C) July 11, 2007
(C) Rosemarie Schrock...

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I dream in colour all the time
You know black and white is not fine
The colour tones are not technicolor 
A bit washed out like old kodak chrome colour

And sometimes I don't remember much 
Sometimes it's mumbo jumbo and such
The people in them are not always alive
But when it pans out that doesn't matter in the jive.

© Paul Warren Poetry...

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I saw it in a film: his city is beautiful.
Snow is everywhere, the trees are crowned
with it, and ice skims the harbor,
frosts ships, going nowhere. Even when
he held me, there was ice in his heart,

Ice in the pale blue of the washed-out
sky beyond his closed eyelids, ice
beading his vodka skin, and
"You are hot," he said,  "Hot,
hot, hot..."...

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How do I breathe
When the air is so thin
With lungs made of fire
And walls closing in

How do I see 
In darkness of night
With eyes made of water
And nothing in sight

How do I love
With sadness and pain
With a heart made of earth
Washed out by the rain

How do I know 
That everything's fine
One look at my family
The sun starts to shine....

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A short slender stick,
I used to jot down
the word "flames"-
in the sunny sandy shore.

I wrote our names,
crossed out those the same
with excitement and hope
that my counting ended in love.

My cheeks turned to pale;
because it was only a friend,
I tried again then mumbled:
better luck to the next crush.

The high tide came
and washed out all, I left....

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Hands
mixing
neutral shades
as brushstrokes form
etches of life’s vignettes in washed-out tones,
Reflecting grim  shadows doused by night’s  ash
Where black  white hints
Trail along
Fingers
Stained.
Grief
In oil
Expressing
Artist's lament
Through paint of tears which words cannot portray.



tetractys 1st place
Contest NO  85 for Briand Strand...

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My teeth have gotten crooked.
My eyes sport puffy bags.
My lashes lost their lushness
And my neck, once taut, now sags.

My wrinkles now have cousins
Come to line my washed-out skin,
But it isn’t any mirror that
Reveals the shape I’m in.

For that white-haired older lady,
Peering back across the room,
Is the way the whole world sees me
When I’m on the screen on Zoom....

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There is something unexhausted of you
in this aging washed-out coat
and I lift my nose
to taste the smell that desires
to be invited-
ignited in the closing of your breath,
untarnished and thirsty.
Like rage, it licks,
streams,
and enters my dreams
glossy as brilliance-
you-
rush in my mentation
with warmth that comforts
my skin.
I breathe you in unfathomable-
not wanting to exhale....

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Waking up to the dull drab grey,
the washed out color of my cheeks;
So cold outside day after day 
through the window frigid air sneaks;

Winter Be Gone! I've had enough!
You've stolen every bit of grandeur
leaving your cold icy fluff;
Now all I see is Spring's allure

Behind that angry frozen glare
Lies the slowing of winters dance;
Sunshine and flowers tip the air
We long for thaw, Spring's romance



1/19/13...

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Can anything be better
then a pair
of plastic pink Flamingos?

necks slinking gracefully
as a swan
glides upon calm waters.

Steel spindles
established firmly in soft soil:

          No food
          No care
          No toil

so self -sufficient.

And should I mention
the beauty
they display
until incessant sun rays
begin to fade
pink bodies away

Can anything be worse
then a washed out pink Flamingo?...

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Riffles, catching debris as it passes. 
Holding on to that which seems small
Only to be dislodged when bigger comes

Tiny and precious can dwell deep down
Only to be washed out by a flood
Disrupting patterns disrupting patterns

Then calm ensues, new patterns emerge
That which was hidden emerges
But with that a new path is forged

A new stream to wash away
Make a new place for settlement
And once again the life path flows...

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AUTUMN  SCENE


A deserted outdoor café  -
Empty tables piled in corner,
Sun-umbrella, collapsed in desultory
Flapping, and folded wetly to itself.


Concrete planter box with pansies -
Tired, wilted, droopy, washed out;  
Discarded ice-cream wrappers  -
A watery white smudge on the kerb.


Bare wet sidewalk reflecting her legs,
Raindrops spitting onto her glasses,
A woman hurrying with her umbrella,
Stepping quickly round the puddles....

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March 11th and Foggy
My Thoughts

Aspirations are never taken,
 But oft deserted,
How many days have been washed out 
Pursuing a dream, 
That went the way of fog at sunrise;
Taunting dreams, 
That often remained, just beyond reach;
Dreams, colorless,
And infertile of substance that became 
Mere clouds of illusion;
Dreams that don’t outlive the passion of day,
Leave only scraps 
Of that God given moment;

Tom 
...

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Awashed out from shore tempest tossed in the night
Behold sands once golden fade from sight
Alone I must plumb the depths of my sorrow
No one to be with if there is a tomorrow
Drenched are my spirits, a dark heavy toll
Overwhelmed is my vacant aching soul
No compass not guide nor north star above
Exiled into a land of dark clouds, no white dove
Dream sweetly my dear, my life, my love...

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