Short Wringing Poems
Short Wringing Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Wringing by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Wringing by length and keyword.
Wringing feelings
Like a sponge…
The words dripped down
My lips
Onto the page
—staining my soul
(Villanova Pennsylvania: May, 2016)
Wringing feelings
Like a sponge…
The words dripped down
From my lips
Onto the page,
—staining my soul
(Villanova Pennsylvania: May, 2016)
Wringing feelings
Like a sponge…
The words dripped down
From my lips
Onto the page
—staining my soul
(Villanova Pennsylvania: May, 2016)
Is it an angel that I hear singing?
Or is it tinnitus in my ears ringing?
The voice is so high
Its making me cry
It’s my underwear, it's tight and wringing
the stiff clouds
still
wringing their hands, but
hearing your sweet voice,
through
the motherland
where
the
colorful seagulls
flap their long wings
over dry land
MORE evil
than gods &
loathing smiles
while wringing my
hands -- at two-lips
so beveled
god the martini slog
~ so brutal taking life as
it is and miles to go
before I am useless.
:: 06-22-2017 ::
Looking Forward to
I look forward to
wringing my
endocrine glands covering the
top exterior of
the kidneys; loving deeply, intensely, first respecting and
approving the
toilet brush; the
new second Tuesday of
the week.
I suggested that
The ink fall
Below the sweep
Of your silhouette
Wringing physical sirens
Challenge the prick as
The shades blend
To a beautiful form
Complete
Your lower lip sags
At the glistening triumph
Since the nerves cannot smile
Form:
Rhyme is a crime,
A misdemeanor or more.
And cadence is worse—a rhythmical verse
Is a felony critics abhor.
“Love” gets a shove
In the ash-can where Beauty “belongs”.
Psychosis is “in”—optimism’s a sin:
Down the toilet with heart wringing songs!
Opening bottles
Men can
Women can't
Not always anyway.
Some women
Have men's hands
Knobbly and strong
Take my late mother-in-law
Hands good for
Wringing heavy washing
Lifting pints of Guinness too!
Me, useless, needing a man
If only to open my bottles.
Clouds leave their blue skies to be rain,
The wringing dark trailing behind.
Onto her palm, drops shadow's stain.
Clouds leave their blue skies to be rain,
While the water fills up in gray;
A cloud held to her face's cry.
Clouds leave their blue skies to be rain,
The wringing dark trailing behind.
Pounding of the sun.
Pounding of the storm.
Drummers on trees.
Freeze the moment
Of unusuality.
Stream of arousal.
Stream of hot rays.
Stunning silence.
Freeze the moment
Of tranquility.
Heed transient thunder.
Heed, it’s late arrival.
Wringing out rain.
Freeze the moment
Of instability.
8/29/2021
Breathtaking
Our secret lechery
beneathe the wringing cascades
oft caressing .....
ev'r breathtaking
nev'r failing
oft glowing
our hearts still knowing.
McCuen Copyright October 2008
Form:
wayward, wanting
winds
waiting without
weigh
weary woefull
wanderers
weaving weather
warfare
walking waters
wringing
whatever writing
with
whirlwind wonders
working
wrenching wrinkles
worthless
wrestling wrong
writes
well....for now
stan sand
writing...when
writs...wring
wrong
Ah, dazzled by the dark messiah's calculating tongue,
Panoply of a scheming soul residing deep in his being -
Engaging the mindless herds gathering all around him.
Rue the day when he is exposed as he truly is, that no
Conniption, remorse or hair wringing could ever undo.
Until the next election comes along, just grit your teeth!
Joy and sorrow in staccato
Feet strike the floor
Heel and toe
Pounding from the knee
Kicking up the skirt
Hips sway
Spine arches
Arms encircle the body
Wringing and unfurling
Elbows raised
Wrists and fingers twist and rotate
Hands fling high
Eyes cast down
Cante and compas
Toque and palmas
In passion and anguish
Duende
There was no clear move.
Flamethrowers were on the way-
and I was looking,
backward.
A fragile truce with the
clouds. They had abandoned-
the sky and were wringing-
the neck of mountains.
Compromising with the painted lips
of winter, my secret was out.
I was shivering in the crowd
of moon-gazers.
Satish Verma
Seven By Seven Poetry Contest
Nette Onclaud
1/24/2026
Night Sea Masquerade
the moon takes on a new form
on water closing her mouth
their imposing other tides
she's a belle over the sea
her shadow bulges in waves
at night you never can tell
wringing audience, ringing
*edited the title after contest
"she" is not me for this subject matter
Last night when the first
snow fell I was hovering
on the doorstep of
yours anxiously and
wringing my hands without a
dare to knock, even
my voice was laced by
unspoken poetry and
only stuttering
came out of my mouth.
I wanted to act; to love
out loud and fill the
space in between, but
under the shadow of a
doubt this void was made to grow.
I may have grown tired
but my lungs have opened wide
Never to be so inspired
as when we shut the divide
Now universally singing verses to be heard
voices chorusing uniformly wringing through the urn
which formed splits and fissures through my nervous cord
hexed cortex adorned with loose tissue and enormous horns
looming viciously against my dreams
I am reborn
Diphylleia grayi turns transparent in rain,
Transforming before me to lustrous bone
Drawing out aches in my marrows pain
Patience — the clouds will fade, leaving you standing alone
Ending transparency, we find white in every pane
Wringing you dry; elevates this capstone
Wet again, you bloom into ice-etched floral glass
Hiding in purity, the world forgets quickly; how clarity is surpassed
The holes of the lace curtain,
Having closed the winter windows.
Life shimmers like so coveted blueberries.
So many pieces of obscurity.
The tops of the trees are spinning in the wind,
In a semicircle, back and forth,
Like whipping up the raw material for a biscuit.
Or maybe they're wringing their necks?
The wind has thrown the rumble of trains
Into a soundproof bag.
Every human is asleep.
DREAM
I had a dream
it felt so real
you featured inside
no shock or surprise
I want to know why
we have three
whole seconds of
true reflection
in the closing
blink of an eye
you there and
soaking in the grass
bright sunshine with
a wide smile and I
with my body of
kindling wringing
it all in with lack
of confidence and
constant fidgeting
© Kim van Breda—6 January 2016
What is this feeling
that rejoice and hurts
an instance of laughter
the next of tears
Tears that lingers
unshed and weary
erupting saddness
wringing and scary
Why be happy
when saddness awaits
like a sleeping serpent
to rise its hood
Its bite stings
with searing pain
flushing out
the blissful feel
Why be happy
or be sad
neither lets you
stay sane nor glad
© Nadiya (17 Jan '15)
A winter day
you came to school
red faced and crying
your curly hair all ablow
wringing your red red hands
late
rode your bike
tears and frostbite
Forbidden to talk I saw
teacher
scold you in the hallway
while your eyes dripped
over the pain in your face
your hands bent as if they would
forever grip the handlebar
"Where is your mother" asked the teacher
"Where is your mother?"
tears
and frostbite.