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Wavery Poems

Note: The forms for these poems were selected by the poet. Often poems are assigned the wrong form. Please confirm the accuracy of the poetic form before referencing the poem.

List of New Poems

PMPoem TitlePoetFormCategories  
The Difference in the Stories We Want to Tell Elliott Lyngreen Prose Poetry wavery, death of a friend,
Skip to Content KJ Hooten Narrative wavery, computer, humor, introspection,
Crusing Home Katherine Stella Senryu wavery, death, imagination, loss, natural

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Above are examples of poems about wavery. This list of poems is composed of the works of modern international poet members of PoetrySoup. Read short, long, best, famous, and modern examples of wavery poetry. This list of works is an excellent resource for examples of these types of poems.

Wavery Poem Example

The Difference in the Stories We Want to Tell

Ohh I could have sat with my heart 
--elevated with dribbled echoes-- 
ahhhhhh until it yet exhaled the tarnished seams 
capturing only the quiet current lapping
and soaking dirty steel embankment	
along the river’s edge beneath the elevators 
and rusted railway overpass.. listening
as if the very markings and where they were; 
was the point we reached.

But the difference in the stories we want to tell 
and the ones we hear ourselves tell to others 
or even the stories we tell to ourselves
are not the ones that actually happen
but the ones we hope get told about ourselves.

And from the dragged busy avenues 
Elliott’s is lingering, scorching, 
scrapping placed black glances 
at the difference which came in-between 
looks all around; when his body was found;
so the driving but squeezed remains 
that forms the murky waste, leaking out,
resituates away from that easy smack-like 
wake from motors fishtailed in two sets 
slipped through to the ends of the river 
not only smaller than we were
before or within the mainstream surrounding, 
but finer in every such note 
and so much more perfectly 
in slow-mo oddity than the overgrowth 
of foliage, and into that which will be told.

Has ever found thee exact sounds
so singly in the noises as that whispering...
and where it goes when pulled without hesitating, 
you know in the rifts against echoes
dribbling up to the suspended girders
crossing the murky rivers 
to where the old muffling coursing veins, 
ripped off in visions and the 
anticipations and expectations in your head… 
ever even came so close to
so close to the conclusions? 

Yet in the swift side-vanished sky like wet pavement
but wet against the embankment, it dries
on in an afternoon of no humidity…. finally evaporates, 
over and over lapping different intervals,
the ceaseless figuring where the world, 
where every second instantly goes, dried
turning distorted there in the levels 
marvelously skimmed amidst memory; 
stones worth plucking and thrown
just over the very edge 
and almost displaying the wavery stain 
the rotten that seems brilliantly with near looks 
at the river, as the thin air carved upon it, 
and the little slick gleams of algae
and smooth enormous stacks billowing 
so repetitively with sad-shaped exhausting…
and tough cracks and windshields 
of broken cars, cranked glares near hard looks; 
as if the science ever inside of them literatures 
of our fantastic drag towards them
knew with impossible expectations 
that gets pulled away from 
oh how I suppose this sort of thing 
is supposed to go;
and into the very real dream the poet
could have reasoned, to go…

Songsmith sung that ever-longing undone;
for an explanation,– 
finds that long lost answer 
and with that fled so so long 
so so long ago to thee ends of so so far away… 
and unravels there … over and over;
at the metal corners of the enormous sections 
of the state of the proverbial peaceful 
miniature edges running beside themselves;
that enormous scraping, listening to him
around the uneven like dark shadows 
at the weed cut-up back shoulders
that fall apart further in the seams above;
sitting where split beams violate visions 
through these white streams careening any which way 
upon an invisibly shaping formation 
and coloring the ever-bending 
turned like a spoon round into a bowl of water; 
that ruptured crooked, flowing impression.

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