Short Yellowed Poems
Short Yellowed Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Yellowed by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Yellowed by length and keyword.
my fingernails are treacherously filthy
not merely dirty
disgusting
they have hardened and yellowed
old age is a yell
Vincent van Gogh colourist
often with yellowed orange did insist
In manic depressive mood swings
this painting* was his last fling
One day I cleaned a
bulging and over stuffed top drawer
found three keys hidden
in a yellowed envelope
marked in red ink skeletons
History written with ordinary pencil
It's easily yellowed...
But with ink blood
it's eternal!
ps reading Emille Autumn
They fade away
Cold poems
Yellowed pages
Unread
Old warriors
Cold souls
Unsheathed
Blades dulled
Forgotten
Words
Buried
In tomes
Unfaded, though yellowed
Paper wrote on
Love's clear mention.
As fragrant, though musty
The box found in
Love's sweet meaning.
a glint of sapphire eyes
behind a veil …
the tulle has yellowed,
gems sparkle still.
November 10, 2022
Bitesize Poem No. 55 Poetry Contest
Line Gauthier, sponsor
The last drop of ink
Smeared
Across a thought
Soaked
Into a yellowed page
Nestled
Unwanted
In an old
Hand written poem
Dried
In the crease
Of forgotten
Forever’s
Red, white and blue tooth gel becomes diffused with circular motion.
Vestiges on each yellowed or white pearl, clean and polish.
Liberty to smile with effervescence and brilliancy.
Cigarette butts pressed into the ashtray.
Yellowed fingers from nicotine.
Prematurely aged face,
Wrinkled.
Squeezed inside.
No passion.
Without life.
Drown in his own misery ...
lace curtain yellowed
housekeeper long time ago -
the frame's reflection
pressed flowers, held dear of someone lost
turned crisp
between yellowed pages
which have begun to stick
once beautiful
now decayed and lost once more
Bite size poem no17 poetry contest
Downy carpet hill,
Yellowed from the sunlight daze,
Rosy-shafted beams
Drifting off to sea
begin another day,
Waspy tailed whips of clouds
seemingly write
Onto the newly wet earth.
boy with yellowed sallow skin
seams thin
have you seen him?
shaken shaky hands with him?
poured him greasy shots of gin?
sang his soulless requiem?
if you have
you won't again
Form:
Long days
Of August sun
Where nature blinks and shrinks
The dying grass,yellowed in sleep-
Held fast
as
Oat grass
Tinted old gold
Shimmers on tall green stems;
On a clear warm light of evening sun-
Back-lit
Santa got drunk and pissed all over the snow
bumble tossed it and yellowed Rudolph's' nose
the elves twitched their ears in dismay
Sam the snowman boarded the sleigh
Santa slept in snoopys house out in the cold
Petals of memory falling
Upon the yellowed grass
Mingled with the autumn leaves
Cool breeze sings of the past
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Dust swirls, tiny ghosts,
Granny’s trunk spills mothball dreams~
Lace yellowed with time,
A pressed violet remembers
her laughter climbing the stairs.
As I came across the yellowed card
Unfolding lost fond memories
Life pages of long ago
Yearning for those I miss
The lines written there
Slowly became
Soft whispers
My eyes,
Blurred.
Cynthia BuhainBaello
July 16, 2012
Hands, aged with sun
Rings grown too tight
Feet, wrinkled by walk
Eyes drooped with tire
Hair stringed with dye
Teeth yellowed with coffee
Each wrinkle
Each taint
Each sun-spot
Each grey hair
Filled with experience
And meaning
Long days
Of August sun
Where nature blinks and shrinks
The dying grass,yellowed in sleep-
Held fast
NOTE:AMERICAN CINQUAIN (an imagist stressed version)WAS DEVISED BY ADELAIDE CRAPSEY (William Soutar Epigrams are a similar wordplay form)
Old buttons and fragile lace gloves
Soft swinging dress and simple pearls
Residing in a wooded frame
She is only a memory
I’ve oft seen her tired solemn face
In the yellowed and worn pages
Of old family picture books
A reflection of poverty
He sits alone
paper yellowed
pencil stilled
gnarled hands
grasping
at a past
She sits alone
keyboard silenced
blue lit hands
reaching
into a future
They sit alone
together
waiting
for the touch
of poetry.
John G. Lawless
©1/9/2022
Buzzing loudly,
Is that coming from me?
Dust and filth in my shade,
Slightly cracked, was this how I was made?
My light yellowed and dim,
The chances of me getting a new light bulb are slim.
But I've been here for so long,
Everywhere else feels wrong.
purple mountains majesties
our inheritance
every word poetic
the legacy of time
regal lines written
yellowed parchments read
such support and friendship
on a site for writing and words
understanding the paths to fulfillment
partners in this quest...