Thinness Poems | Examples

Magnification

Written: November 24, 2023
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Close-up screening will show the flaws.
Under microscope, watch the draws.
With fresh style—microscopy tool.
Sight blur has been fixed—law or rule.

Microscope grips when bright hue thaws.
Close-up screening will show the flaws.
Scab thinness—less than two microns
Hook the dwarf scope—to grasp ions.

A maze echo—of magic dream.
Wanning under the noiseless stream
Close-up screening will show the flaws.
Disclosure of traces—that yaws

Pathways forged by spirits with faith.
We all crave relief from the wraith.
Who blesses hearts—effects show cause
Close-up screening will show the flaws.

Winding Wind

Why does the wind create that howl
and with it such a sensation?
It's in your heart, your mind, your soul.
It seems to reach for your very cognition.
You sit, so still, in your room - just sulk.

The thinness of glass is so frightening;
it tries to fight the mighty howl
but cannot hold it back,
as that blow drives against your window
from the world outside, with no mercy, it seems.

Or does it prefer not to see you sulk so much?
Does it ask what's in your heart, your mind, your soul?
Perhaps this is its way of wanting you
to know its wish, its supplication.
Does a wind howl to make a plea?

(7 Sep 2023)

My Lover

The gentle breeze of the night  
Ran away and came in slowly  
And so does my lovers heart

Is the cloud closer or farther?  
As I wonder if my lovers love is  
With the thinness of the stars!

Ohh triplet of stars, all together  
Always and I look for my lovers  
Heart around but could not find 

And there two other stars, why  
Should there be a distance between  
These stars and the distance  
Founded and created their imperfections with their faintness

There, over there is one big star  
Thick with togetherness, strong with  
love and firm with trust, where is mine?

The bird flew in between the clouds and the group  
Wait, Birds?  
What art thou doing by this of the day?  
When sleep fullest man's eyes

At last, the falling horse arose and  
the lost sheep found  
Just one moon seen in Yugoslavia is seen in Nigeria as one as it took it whole component with it   
They all move at ones altogether so do I and my lovers soul together!

We became a pen  
That outside the earth the pen and   
It's cover may be separated but  
Inside they are clicked together with an unbreakable bound.

The Original Dolly Cat

The pink panther is the original dolly cat
He knows who he is and makes no apologies for that.
He used to tickle my grandson, he would laugh until tears
I did not realize then that he might be a dolly cat himself over years.

He is wily and smart, and handsome, a pink dapper devil.
His thinness is almost funny, he is never disheveled.
He is a study in gender, with a keen eye on the lookout.
I love his slinky slick ways, for his individuality I do shout.

The pink panther has the voice of a soft-spoken man.
There is a touch of mystery, as he heads for each garbage can.
He is rather refined, so I cannot see him peeking in alleys for food.
Just seeing his clever fine ways puts me in an extremely good mood.

Touching Youth

what planet could this be for boys of ten
and then one hundred

movement felt, 
looking at the hardened grain
of hands caressed 
with fingers pressed against themselves 

absorbing stillness’ breath 
suspended in each air a pair 
of warm yet liquid-frozen thoughts 

captured 
then released with care

youthful power to devour light 
whose distance now 
becomes serene 

a slow suspended scene 
in the moment captured 

stretched like bubble gum or taffy

compressed 
into the thinness of a dime

time 
rolled between the fingers 

ridged and perfect soft 
wrapped 

as cigarettes unsmoked, 

moving miniature rolling pins
of skin like bread 
gathered sweet

and then, 

a fence to sit upon, a wall to scale
grains of surfaced roughness 
where the smooth compare 

the toughness of their skin
to skin a shin 

upon a polished youth 
with broken glass of bottles blowing

tins and rolls all gathered in
their stripes and plaids 
and paisleys worn - 

attempts to humanize 
collateralized machine

we all want out, sometimes, 

we all want in.

Noone Can Know Why

No one can know why
but here it is

happy families suffer
with happiness

fat people suffer
with fatness

small people suffer
with thinness

beautiful people suffer
with beauty

holy people suffer
with holiness

rich people suffer
with wealth

powerful people suffer
with power

then who in this world is
happy with happiness?

yet humans are crazy, crazy, crazy

At the Gates

Knocking into a golden gate
A familiar face approaches
Staring and observing my fate
And it's tough for me to process

They let me in past the doorway
A thinness in the air embrace
The vision seems a bit starry
Wandering in this solemn place

Walking past in the grandeur hall
A hand guides me through a stoa
Marching with my hand on the wall
Snuffling scent of lush aroma

Reaching the end of the journey
A man queries with supple voice
Asking if I am that worthy
I responded yes with rejoice

With the increasing shriek of rooks
He patted me and confided 
You are not written in the books
Then swiftly woke up alighted




Describe heaven Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Faraz Ajmal 
August 30,2018

I Have a Horse

I have a horse!
By Stanley Russell Harris
The new mad author.
& A Poetry Soup honourably mentioned poet

I now have a horse at home.
I never ever let it roam.
In fact two legs are tied up tight.
Yet loose enough to move alright!

It is so thin, you can see its frame.
Don’t tell the RSPCA, please from that refrain.
As perhaps I will not see my horse again.
I cover its thin frame sometimes you know.

Then its thinness is not on show!
It’s always indoors in the cold.
Although in the warm sunshine, I might it walk out.
Not on view or folk might shout.

Even laugh, they might you see.
When they see my long john undies!
On my clothes horse!  He, he, he.

I have a young cousin so many times removed and all that, who is a keen rider. I often annoy her with my poems which she reads to her parents. I wonder what she will make of my latest horse. Incidentally I did learn how to fall off a real horse in the RAVC many years ago. lol

Born On the Goldhawk Road Two

My unusual physical appearance 
Was enhanced by a striking thinness, 
And enormous long-lashed blue eyes. 
Less charmingly, I was also the kind of 
Deliberately malicious little hooligan
Who'd remove some periodical 
From a neighbour's letter-box
And then mutilate it before reposting it.
The sixties' famed social and sexual revolution 
Was well under way, and yet for all that, 
Seminal Pop groups such as the Searchers
And the Dave Clark Five;
Even the Fab Four themselves, 
Were quaintly wholesome figures.
                                                                    
And in comparison to what was to come,
They surely fitted in well 
In a long vanished England 
Of Norman Wisdom pictures; 
And the well-spoken presenters 
Of the BBC Home Service,
Light Service and World Service, 
Of coppers and tanners 
And ten bob notes; 
And jolly shopkeepers 
And window cleaners.
At least that's how I see it, 
Looking back at it all
From almost half a century later.

Still Fires Burning

The thinness of skin 
parchments across
blue veins and brittle stick bones
dreaming of budding branches—it lays loose

you've matched my desire 
with phrases of burning leaves
flames—flaring gold, yellow and red

rheum fills my once clear eyes
but echoed memory guides me
through forests of fall
descending with feathered down 
from empty nests

dulled and lifeless fodder for fire
ungathered leafless— 
forlorn as stalks of dry corn  

still, I eye beauty—
 
voice symphonies of words
and build bonfires from 
each passing
night

Drawing Is

Drawing is...
	
	
	...essential to my life,
	my need-to-mark work
	to claim, 
	touch,
	make visible 
	that which exists hidden 
	within the thinness 
	of a sheet of paper; 
	to see rather than merely look, 
	my eyes, lodestones 
	for edge, 
	shadow, 
	form, 
	position;
	to ingest that which meets my eye,
	then loose it through 
	the conduit of my fingers, 
	revealing traces in the paper 
	of a reality such as 
	only I can see.

Reflection

I sit here in quiet contemplation
Turn my head this way and that
I see the angles of my face
Slope of my nose and depth of my eyes
I wish I had a smile for myself.

I stand as my hands fall limply to my side
Turn my body this way and that
I see the angles displayed prominently 
The thinness of my arms, curve of my hips
I wish I had a smile for myself.

I search my heart and mind as I stare
Turn my emotions this way and that
I see the despair in my heart, emptiness of my mind
The holes buried deep inside, bleeding slowly
I wish I had a smile for myself.

I turn my back on the reflection of myself
Walk slowly away from the truth
I don't see me anymore, inside or out
My emotions hang by threads, I'd rather not feel
I wish I had a smile for myself.

Caramel Coated Promise

A caramel coated promise on a wisened old man's couch. Living in a sugar coated world 
falling into an oblivious mass of thinness and frailty. Not yet strong--Tough, no; shy, not 
either. Strength and endurance as rocky as the West coast wearing petticoats, ringing bells 
of flurious yesterdays into tomorrows hopes and dreams recalled. Billowy, flowery tulips ring 
true to the caramel coated promises. Never too rich or skinny. A waist an inch deep and 
widely thickened cream of poppy icecream screams smear me thin and shed the self as on 
onion into a glorious stick adorning a caramel coated apple. A promise to myself and not you-
- as my eyes are wide deep! Aspartame filled rats, cancer ridden corpses frozen into stark 
reality.  Stark nakedness tells no lies and makes bigger eyes!

Nice Clothes

Nice Clothes

I was never a traditional “pretty girl”
I was not ultra-feminine
Though when younger
And thinner
I turned many a lady’s -
And gentleman’s - head

Clothes fit me quite nicely
I was not a fashion plate by any means
Still, I cut a good figure
As they used to say

Now I have a low paying job
Barely enough
To keep the proverbial 
Wolf from my door

I cannot buy nice clothes
In fact, I seldom buy any clothes

The young, thin women
Are complimented
On their appearance

Oh for the days of youth
And thinness
And head turning
And when I had money
For nice clothes

March 27, 2007

Sweet Dreams

She traced across the edges of her dreams.
Singling them out, one by one
Tasting memories like Godiva chocolates,
She mouths in silence
Words that conjure wishes to life,
In other times and other places
Back in the magic landscape of a woman's youth,
Where possibilities hang on winks and whims.
They rise up to meet her,
Called forth from vaults unlocked by sleep.

Those souls she traveled with have aged, 
She, as they, worn to paper thinness
Brownburnt and frail at the edges
Like the old photos of lovers now gone.
Some sunk into the earth's cold heart,
Some turned to smoke and spread upon its skies,
Some simply - Gone -
All joined in the weave of memories, 
Dreams they bring to birth;

The edges of her dreams 
Go melting down to sweetness now,
As within, behind the inscrutable, wrinkled face,
That young Lady Godiva slowly starts to smile again.

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