Week Poems
Leaves
by Bhaskaranand Jha Bhaskar
Some leaves that tremble
are so pale and frail,
they finally do fall down
from the top of a tree.
Yet with or even without
a touch of windy time
only those in green are
freely on a fluttering spree.
Perla's 7 Shoes
by Mhea Bardouille
Honest Feedback is appreciated!!
Hi! This is the SECOND poem I have ever written! So some context. I am trying to so I am trying to write a poem where I talk about each day of the week but using different types of shoes.
____________________________________________________________________________
Sitting on the edge of my bed reluctantly forcing my feet
into my one-size-too-small Sunday heels, I look for my left sock
my eyes drift to my black school shoes
its leather body peeling off revealing its white shell
and its velcro trap mixed with bubblegum
I cringe knowing that my mother will scream at the mess on my feet Monday morning
......
Monday
by Ceyx Kingfisher
You couldn’t know, but I’m the reaper,
Grim grinning, cotton steering, empty hulled.
Your sweet momma saw; she saw, she said.
She said, she says she saw that I’m a keeper.
I’m a keeper in your eye,
But keep your eyes on me.
Keep your eyes on me; don't leave me be.
Your momma, see. She said she saw,
She said she saw you flee.
......
Leaves
by Bhaskaranand Jha Bhaskar
Some leaves that tremble
are so pale and frail,
they finally do fall down
from the top of a tree.
Yet with or even without
a touch of windy time
only those in green are
freely on a fluttering spree.
Monday
by Ceyx Kingfisher
You couldn’t know, but I’m the reaper,
Grim grinning, cotton steering, empty hulled.
Your sweet momma saw; she saw, she said.
She said, she says she saw that I’m a keeper.
I’m a keeper in your eye,
But keep your eyes on me.
Keep your eyes on me; don't leave me be.
Your momma, see. She said she saw,
She said she saw you flee.
......
Perla's 7 Shoes
by Mhea Bardouille
Honest Feedback is appreciated!!
Hi! This is the SECOND poem I have ever written! So some context. I am trying to so I am trying to write a poem where I talk about each day of the week but using different types of shoes.
____________________________________________________________________________
Sitting on the edge of my bed reluctantly forcing my feet
into my one-size-too-small Sunday heels, I look for my left sock
my eyes drift to my black school shoes
its leather body peeling off revealing its white shell
and its velcro trap mixed with bubblegum
I cringe knowing that my mother will scream at the mess on my feet Monday morning
......
