"briery" poems - Hello Poetry

I’m a Shard of broken glass sharp in sin until at last I found myself casted in the oceans of your grace Your waves of zeal wash over me Found in You is where I’m free The peace within your salty seas Softens the briery parts of me. Hallelujah! you find me hallelujah! you redefine me a sea glass gemstones purposed now to bring glory of your throne! Riches beyond measure at Christ’s expense I’m made a treasure How beautiful you are. How beautiful you are. Hallelujah! you find me hallelujah! you redefine me a sea glass gemstones purposed now to bring glory of your throne!

0

Jul 25, 2015

Jul 25, 2015 at 7:26 AM UTC

bokehhiccups

Sea glass.

I’m a Shard of broken glass sharp in sin until at last I found myself casted in the oceans of your grace Your waves of zeal wash over me Found in You is where I’m free The peace within your salty seas Softens the briery parts of me. Hallelujah! you find me hallelujah! you redefine me a sea glass gemstones purposed now to bring glory of your throne! Riches beyond measure at Christ’s expense I’m made a treasure How beautiful you are. How beautiful you are. Hallelujah! you find me hallelujah! you redefine me a sea glass gemstones purposed now to bring glory of your throne!

20

Poet’s pens write to take flight Like paintings of the open blue sky And the moon lightly lit at midnight Growing as trees from Japanese Bonsai Visions of green briery vines, Red roses and blue violets, Written in measured and timed lines that glide by, like descending pilots Readers see the shadow on the wall Writers see the vision from down the hall

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Apr 26, 2019

Apr 26, 2019 at 4:53 AM UTC

mark-parker

Red Roses and Blue Violets

Poet’s pens write to take flight Like paintings of the open blue sky And the moon lightly lit at midnight Growing as trees from Japanese Bonsai Visions of green briery vines, Red roses and blue violets, Written in measured and timed lines that glide by, like descending pilots Readers see the shadow on the wall Writers see the vision from down the hall

10

I’m outside and the air is so crisp it’s turned brittle When I move, my hair cracks with electricity As if with each step I take, I displace And crinkle the wafer oxygen. My hair, it is poised like a snapping electric halo, And I think how many angels have also had feet Which knew this frozen, frosty soil like mine do. What a shame we could not have met and compared notes. Above is a ceiling, nearer than people credit to be. There is no navy shroud tonight, Seasoned with the universe. It is not even a black curtain, But instead a piece of smoke fogged glass, graying. Above the briery penthouses of the evergreen boundaries, Against which the glass rests, Is a blush of light, to the North, tattle of a city. They call it light pollution, a lightening of the sky Due to artificial, phosphorescent, perpetual pantomimes of noon: streetlights And I see two electric halos, One belonging to me One the heavens, And I think how funny that Without the dry, horrid winter air, or the residue of a wasteful city of men, No halos would exist.

0

Apr 2, 2013

Apr 2, 2013 at 10:00 PM UTC

hervi

Halo

I’m outside and the air is so crisp it’s turned brittle When I move, my hair cracks with electricity As if with each step I take, I displace And crinkle the wafer oxygen. My hair, it is poised like a snapping electric halo, And I think how many angels have also had feet Which knew this frozen, frosty soil like mine do. What a shame we could not have met and compared notes. Above is a ceiling, nearer than people credit to be. There is no navy shroud tonight, Seasoned with the universe. It is not even a black curtain, But instead a piece of smoke fogged glass, graying. Above the briery penthouses of the evergreen boundaries, Against which the glass rests, Is a blush of light, to the North, tattle of a city. They call it light pollution, a lightening of the sky Due to artificial, phosphorescent, perpetual pantomimes of noon: streetlights And I see two electric halos, One belonging to me One the heavens, And I think how funny that Without the dry, horrid winter air, or the residue of a wasteful city of men, No halos would exist.

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