Short Whittled Poems
Short Whittled Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Whittled by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Whittled by length and keyword.
much time has passed
my love for you is eternal
remembrances may be fleeting
some are etched in our minds
like teenager's love notes whittled in a tree
By Robert McDermott
Scratch away at my soul
Rip off my skin
To uncover what lies beneath
Blood, crimson and copious
Bone, white and whittled
Heart, shattered and shriveled
Love, gruesome and gone
Form:
Oh, What A Piddily Day
I Whittled It Away
On Some Unnecessary Chips
On My Shoulders
& In My Dips ...
Written & Copyrighted ©: 9/12/2013
by: MoonBee Canady
she
whittled me
out
of
starlit kisses
she whittled me
?
we could go on
but why
should
eye
am
i
eyes
...
..
.
...
..
.
I set alight a fire burning bright
It was a blaze of hope, of faith
Having no tinder, I thought I might
Burn my heart; and smoke billowed, wraith.
I whittled at the carbon fuel, chipping as its lathe.
Morning Camp
hushed morning sun
dappling through the wood smoke
wake up! smell the toast!
Sundown Camp
embers glowing hot
s'mores branches whittled sharp
oops! marshmallow flame!
11/17/13
The old barn
condemned;
fresh wood
for creative juices;
carved and whittled into
the most refined
picture frames,
you’ve ever
ever imagined
to don
a fine portrait...
condemned
to a new life.
Ddddddddddddddt, Dddddddddddddt
By
Tom Wright
There was a man, who had two wooden legs,
Who was attacked one day gathering eggs.
The woodpecker thought,
It was the tree he sought,
Until he’d whittled both his legs into pegs.
my thoughts
we're hardly
to bed her
but better
to say to
create a
smile
but then not
knowing of
that singular
trap of trying
to truly yes
seduce
her
that it was she
that took me
not swindled
but whittled
my erect
branch
to a
toothpick
Form:
Wacky Willie whittled while whistling weirdly
Widow Winnie winced at Willie's wacky whistling-
And wrecked Willie's weird wooden whittled whistle.......
Woefull winded grandchildren whooped with delight...
If you havent guessed..lol ...for the Tongue Twister contest...
In
The past
Moons ago
Zest was my friend
Living with vigor
Where did energy go?
Whittled away living life
Regrets and pleasure intertwined
Former self gone I am a shadow
Sustained by poetic, enquiring mind.
Image by geralt pixabay
You opened your mouth, to shoot out daggers
when I turned my back to you
What a cheap shot... you coward
spit your cutting words at me
and watch me heal faster than you can cut
I am not one to be whittled
And now I have new armor
so you can not cut me again
I bleed for me alone now
That kind of thing really griped his soul
Meenie ate cookies smuggled from my bowl
Sullivan sighed a little
He was so sick and brittle
Whittled himself down to size with a howl
Weighed down by it’s skin
Pelt heavy, it sat.
Loneliness whittled it thin
T’was called the spotted cat
A mistake from long ago
Left it wounded and hurt
Now lives life on the lay low
Blood mixed with the dirt
Its fur was quite matted
Patchy it still was
Skills fallen out of habit
Closed eyes, tired paws.
she stitched me
in
the
middle
her mandolin
had me at suppose
it
was
an
fiddle
violen
strung rose
oh how she whittled
me strung out in the snow
her flute how it pipers me
warm enough to breathe
caught another breath
harp strung for me
her lyrics sewn
through
my
chest
she stitched me
?
As we put putted out
into the estuary, the
sounds of the city
receded, the tang of
sea filled my nostrils
and the water turned
from brown to aqua.
Danny put out the lines
but all was quiet so I
whittled a piece of spruce,
letting the shavings drift
in our wake, as I sucked
a hard yellow candy
waiting for my sockeye.
Evolution changes
the mind of man
All insight martyred
for wider scans
The magic filtered
as books proclaim
What facts uncover
and time disdains
Evolution fosters
a weakened soul
Each process stifled
the gist untold
Forever whittled
in narrow canes
Tomorrow empty
—the past defamed
(Dreamsleep: August, 2022)
Poet's Plea
I pray not to carve sculpture
whittled by a frenzied rupture
Which, like a portent fist
bollocks to shard all the gist.
Instead, Oh Greatest Lord,
I pray for gift of a kind Word
swinging not like a dry sword;
That, perchance, it may drift
Like of a selfless spendthrift
Spirit of the wretched to uplift!
31st August 2013
A Limerick Poem
AABBA
A limerick
A little windowpane trickled on the left behind diamond
A cosmic milky way, solitude, and Bed, bath and beyond
The word, to and fro, and surreal, a tenant, and the zealous zeal!
Where about of these, all , felt as drops for basil bill, a Duncan hill
A hue in the very first, in a hymn song? For Life, whittled.
3-9-2024
(Updated)
Defined as nothing other than sheer,
what else do you say about this mess?
Whittled down only resilience is left.
When all you see is a cold shoulder left
that next move never comes off sheer.
Your insides are now a four letter mess.
Regardless of this unpredicted mess,
there was so much raw intensity left.
Courage wrapped in passion so sheer.
Stumbling in this sheer mess I never left.
Dusty lonely antique chair
lost your lustre modern fare
whittled wooden hardback saddle
broken wheeled tipping mantle
Covering floor with aged graces
missing party interfaces
one time sat a master...mistress,
now forgotten sitting listless
What accounts you must bestow
stories written young and old
ledgers full of erudition,
...alphabetic composition
Once a time of well oiled use
forgotten,time has made recluse....
Nurtured into a budding bloom
My hands are busy, they start and soon
Shake with blue; white; doves intone
Bones, body brown with eyes that drone
Like tiny gashes sewn up by hand
Tempered temper: fueled and fanned
Dripping dew from simple soil
Bead and bend, like drops of oil
Slick, smooth and shadowed still,
Rush the ground like boulders fill
Forgotten craters; satyrs; round and then
Devil’s whittled son, left wooden red.
Form:
Still no Window,
Still no Whiskey.
Still no Mountain,
Still no Glade.
Still no Rustic
Bench or Rickety
Table. No Oil
Lamp, No Hand
Whittled Pen.
No Daydreams
Wafting 'n Wefting;
Curling Heavenward,
Mingledancing with
Tobacco Scents.
No Time Sense,
Such as with
Such Contemplatives,
Such as with
Surrenderers to
Fate...Much as with
The Untired Retired.
I suffer from
Idylolatry and Idleolatry.
I suffer from
I suffer from
...and yet,
I write.
Still no Window,
Still no Whiskey.
Still no Mountain,
Still no Glade.
Still no Rustic
Bench or Rickety
Table. No Oil
Lamp, No Hand-
Whittled Pen.
No Daydreams
Wafting 'n Wefting;
Curling Heavenward,
Mingledancing with
Tobacco Scents.
No Time Sense,
Such as with
Such Contemplatives,
Such as with
Surrenderers to
Fate...Much as with
The Untired Retired.
I suffer from
Idylolatry and Idleolatry.
I suffer from
I suffer from
...and yet,
I write.
Piece by piece, I was slowly betrayed..
All because you whittled, our love away.
Will my heart ever heal as I try to move on?
With a spurious smile, I pretend to be strong.
Haven't you hurt me enough, will it ever end?
Spreading calamity with every passing of a friend!
I may not have been perfect but, I never did to you..
All the lasciviousness you put our marriage through.
I am a good person, with a faithful heart.
Lord, vindicate me as I try to make a fresh start.