Stints Poems | Examples

Snippets of Spring vol 2

Lyricism of wisteria ruses…peacocking muses gushing tomes

Classicism flocking..roams & woos homes not garden gnomes

Colourful creepers cruising..schmoozing with boisterously blushing bricks

Spring exudes mysticism..oozes oodles of bamboozling serendipity flushing

Cherished fingers rushing freely..delivers..unctuous ravishingly rambunctious

Relished slivers lavishly lingers..embellished..proudly protrudes

Inspires rhyming platitudes about gratitude...fires fresh

Attitudes across a range of altitudes & latitudes

Sprinkling wryly of vintner's drily sparkle...ends strange debacle...

Skint stints of wily skinflint winter’s splinters..with hints of now..Spring sprints

But also somehow.. if one squints..get an inkling of change..

Glints of summer's tints slyly twinkling

Life in a Jar

Life in a Jar

I’d like to find a special jar
To put aside some life,
A jar that keeps both face and form,
And stints the scourge of change.

I’d put therein, a rusted leaf, 
Or summer’s one perhaps,
To always have the seasons at
The twisting of a wrist. 

I’d put therein, my true love’s kiss, 
To always know its taste.
And next to that a snapshot of
The world within her eyes. 

I’d also save, encased therein,
First cries out to the world;
Of lives conceived through gifted love,  
And feeling newly born.

I’d store away the vistas of
Grand aspects, earthly borne,
And let them burn through fired glass
From every lay of land. 

Then I would not be far from life,
From where I cannot see.
No, I prefer to keep it fresh
For morning’s light, through glass.

It’s change that writes the script of life
And fleshes out the page. 
While time is just a numbered pause
Without a story told.

Globalism dreams itself a hegemon, a giant upon a throne of glass, ephemeral

Globalism dreams itself a hegemon, a giant upon a throne of glass, ephemeral,
And can only live through brief stints, sporadic in time and deed,
Through the harshest force of terror, its heart locked within shadow;
It silently prepares to rule through fear, for such is its path to ascend.
"Children of the world, unite!" is the cry, but it's a cry muffled by deeply implanted fears,
They hammer nails of "justice" into half-informed minds as into hard, thick wood,
To steal away the thought of self, to wring out reason to the last drop,
And to build within them a clean conscience for the dirty game they are doomed to play.
Crumbling on stage, this globalism cloaks words in noble masks of care and well-being,
But beneath them, the whisper of ancient chains lays upon the shoulders of the unsuspecting.
A world that rolls towards unity, yet breaks into pieces of ice and silence,
In their play, we become unsuspecting pawns, in a game that pawns its future for naught.

Tonight

In-flight
In pheromone
Honeysuckle perfume
Insect antennae knot freshly
bouquet.

In breeze
I feel your breath
rustle shiny reeds
of my stints' hapless hinterland
you learn.

A vest
of velveteen
gleaming wings that trembled
Turn to a whirring glint beneath
full moon.

She Is a Story Topper

She is a story topper.
If your eye is quivering, hers has dropped out and slid under the couch.
If you think you are having a heart attack, she has had sixteen stints.

She is a story topper.
If you have broken your foot, she has broken her arm, leg, and neck.
If your refrigerator has black mold, two of her houses have burned to the ground.

She is a story topper.
If your man left you for another woman, hers left her for a horse.
If you got left at the altar, she got left in the middle of hell.

She is a story topper.
My husband knows better than to try to complain.
Because she is me.

Big Pharma

Big Pharma

This world has become divided on what we believe.
Should we trust more in science and roll up our sleeve?

What is the truth, how can, we be sure?
Is this vaccine going to kill us, or is it the cure?

Is big pharma a threat, are they trying to take control?
Will their drugs save us or destroy us, what is their goal?

I’ve taken medication for the past eleven years.
They have kept me alive and helped with my fears.

Big pharma saved my life, I guess the question is why?
If there was some big conspiracy, wouldn’t they just let us die?

Thirty minutes of cpr, two stints and a knife
A room full of strangers with drugs, saved my life.

Go visit a hospital, take a good look around.
You will see plenty of loved ones, those drugs keep above ground.

Medicine will keep you home, warm and safe in your bed.
Without science and technology, many of us would be dead.



* I'm not trying to belittle any beliefs that people may have, I'm just voicing my own opinion. *

Synapse

Fig mint
An imaginary high
Word stints
Laugh until you cry
Edged closer
All syncopathic rated
Synapse
The meaning yet debated

Fred Jagenberg – June 4, 2019

Perfect Magus

Though sapient vision limps short,
And digs no eye into nirvana's fort;
Albeit most vivid dream’s flips stop, 
Instinct excels where iffy triers flop. 

And that sharper divining seer tells
Sweeter tales no deft lyricist's bells 
Ever rung a one bereft of Love's ting,
Who jilts fine gold to hear a bird sing. 

He needs no fumbling eye to behold 
What yet lies beyond horizons’ fraud,
Nor flimsy ear's wit to sweetly divine
Blisses and nectarous lickings mine.

His are all-espying orbs steeled in hope;
Netting honeyed things before here pop
Tangible sights for showy ears and eyes
To grab and boast and stir belated sighs.

Known to him are times of lost rest
From lonely stints icily cold at best,
Thrills discerned many days before
They stir faint ears and eyes below.

Synapse

Fig mint
An imaginary high
Word stints
Laugh until you cry
Edged closer
All syncopathic rated
Synapse
The meaning yet debated

I Cannot Return

I'm torn between the 
sinfulness of my 
intentions
and my enduring innocence
Each derive pleasure from my 
wavering stints,
An opening window invites
a seal pregnant with 
a lost soul
Inviting you to unfurl
the sin in me
And close me shut...
Each cleft arouses the bruises 
I bear
A retool can chance 
a rousing stare
But to this I swear 
I cannot return

A Stretch of Island Foreshore

A constant charging and retreating,
leaving behind the soaking sand,
is the ever changing of the tide,
pushing the sea against the land.

And all along the changing shoreline,
Pacific Gulls glide on patrol,
seeking out the ocean bounties,
of washed up departed souls.

There’s flotsam and old cuttlebone;
driftwood finally makes the shore.
Stints and waders chase invertebrate
stranded along the sandy floor.

And up above high water mark,
there is the victims of wild gales.
Dead sea grass in drying windrows,
meander below sand dunes in trails.

New Zealand spinach thrives and spreads.
Marram grass has stabilized the dunes,
and here and there is native spinifex,
among the burrows of communes.

These communes arrive in early spring 
in thousands to the burrows each year,
so it becomes a special time,
with mutton birds returning here.

And constant charging and retreating,
leaves behind the soaking sand,
in the ever changing of the tide,
pushing the sea against the land.

Long Stints of Turbelence

Long Stints of Turbelence

Things were shaky and possessed turbelence;
And they always seemed to last for long stints;
In grass played;
Laid in shade,
Until they did smooth out wrinkles and dents.

Jim Horn

Addiction Ii

Addiction II
I listen carefully to gage what you are covering up
To hear if your words are slurred
Or your outlook too bleak, 
Or if you have verged into mania.
I tell myself, 
This is the nature of addiction.
I try not to take it personally, but
I internalize your depression and misplaced rage.
I love to hear from you on a good day
Straining towards the normalcy in your voice 
Recalling how you once were, and could be again
Imagining all the fun we could have as sisters.
Setting myself up to fall when you crash.
I cover for you to try to spare others the worry
How many stints in the ICU will it take 
“to reach rock bottom?”
I have been encouraged to walk away but I cannot.
My guilt and my love and my powerlessness weigh heavy.
This is the nature of addiction.

Expatriation In the Greatest Nation

Written November 19, 2015


Paint it with Tom and Tiny Tim
Then have thanksgiving dinner with your aunt Lisa and your crazy uncle Jim
Here I am
Uncle Sam I am
Sitting on a white picket, barbed wire fence

Spent two stints in the army
With my aunt's uncle's great nephew
Guess that makes him my cousin
See we don't have much communication
Expatriation leads the nation
So I listen to a one of a kind hipster radio station
That sounds just like the rest

Let's have some fun and paint it red white and blue
Hell, let's paint a picture of me and you
Painting a picture of you and me
Sitting on a dock overlooking the great blue sea
You see, life isn't what you wanted it to be
'Cause in the end
It's just a picture of a picture of you and me

So go back to your story and paint it black and white
Paint it with Tom and Tiny Tim
Then go to the next thanksgiving dinner with your dead aunt Lisa and your now sane uncle Jim
Here I am
Uncle Sam I am
Sitting on a white picket, barbed wire fence

Tongue of Media

Tongue of Media

Book of James, Chapter 3.

Must be tongue of media that is massive
Say things in voice either active of passive
And then later found to be in future tense
Tongue should only be moving in short stints.

What a big difference tough tongue will make
And many breathes away it just might take
So instead of having to be heart-rending
Use tongue for what God was intending.

Now that on the differences we did decide
And in quaint corner no longer have to hide
If you start studying hard and remain inside
God your mind and future will open wide.

James Serious Mysterious Horn
Retired Veteran and Poet

http://www.poetrysoup.com/poets/top_100_poets_most_poems_all_time.aspx

• Short Stints Poems
• Famous Stints Poems
• Best Stints Poems
• Read Stints Poems
• Long Stints Poems
• Stints Quotes