Short Well Chosen Poems
Short Well Chosen Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Well Chosen by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Well Chosen by length and keyword.
Be still my lovely
As my mind paints your image
Through well chosen words
I shall describe your beauty
Through words only flattering
Never sacrifice meaning for a rhyme.
Hmm, I think that chicken could use some thyme.
Check the connotation, not just the sound.
A carefully chosen word is a hound.
Ev'ry stick you throw will come back to you
My next trip is the Andes of Peru.
Well chosen
a thousand pictures
turn on a word
12/16/18
Composed for
Cecelia Hopkins-Drewer's
Minimalism Poetry Contest
Brian Strand's
May 2019 Premier 5
4th Place
A Kiss In The Dark
You light up in the darkness
With the Heaven woven stars
In velvet tones of stillness
I calmly watch; night is ours.
Chill wind swirled rhythmic chanting,
Cocoon those well-chosen words,
Pleasing closeness, enchanting
A taste of natural bloom.
Closed eyes met a world of dreams
amorous scene into dance
A kiss in the limpid dark.
Warm silence serenaded.
The poet enjoys driving words...
like shepherds move sheep in their herds.
Directs here or there,
but always with flair,
rounds up with long chases, then girds,
those words that are well-chosen ones.
With pen, like a staff, commissions
the best of the best
to pass judgment test...
and turn out a poem that stuns.
Sandra M. Haight
~3rd Place~
For Contest, "Limericks," sponsored by Joseph May
Judged: 01/06/2019
Mother rabbit builds
a cozy burrow
underneath the soil.
She brings her babies
and covers them
in her own fur.
She places them
in the flower bed
near the front door,
a spot well chosen
to give protection
from the wind.
Pansies and petunias
sit in their boxes
crying for the soil.
We give them water,
waiting patiently for
a later day to plant.
The cats perch
on the windowsill,
twin heads turned,
eyes glued to her den.
We keep them inside
for babies’ sake.
Mother rabbit builds
a cozy burrow
underneath the soil.
She brings her babies
and covers them
in her own fur.
She places them
in the flower bed
near the front door,
a spot well chosen
to give protection
from the wind.
Pansies and petunias
sit in their boxes
crying for the soil.
We give them water,
waiting patiently for
a later day to plant.
The cats perch
on the windowsill,
twin heads turned,
eyes glued to her den.
We keep them inside
for babies’ sake.