Get Your Premium Membership

Best Famous Pus Poems

Here is a collection of the all-time best famous Pus poems. This is a select list of the best famous Pus poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Pus poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of pus poems.

Search and read the best famous Pus poems, articles about Pus poems, poetry blogs, or anything else Pus poem related using the PoetrySoup search engine at the top of the page.

See Also:
Written by Denise Duhamel | Create an image from this poem

Snow Whites Acne

 At first she was sure it was just a bit of dried strawberry juice,
or a fleck of her mother's red nail polish that had flaked off
when she'd patted her daughter to sleep the night before.
But as she scrubbed, Snow felt a bump, something festering under the surface, like a tapeworm curled up and living in her left cheek.
Doc the Dwarf was no dermatologist and besides Snow doesn't get to meet him in this version because the mint leaves the tall doctor puts over her face only make matters worse.
Snow and the Queen hope against hope for chicken pox, measles, something that would be gone quickly and not plague Snow's whole adolescence.
If only freckles were red, she cried, if only concealer really worked.
Soon came the pus, the yellow dots, multiplying like pins in a pin cushion.
Soon came the greasy hair.
The Queen gave her daughter a razor for her legs and a stick of underarm deodorant.
Snow doodled through her teenage years—"Snow + ?" in Magic Markered hearts all over her notebooks.
She was an average student, a daydreamer who might have been a scholar if she'd only applied herself.
She liked sappy music and romance novels.
She liked pies and cake instead of fruit.
The Queen remained the fairest in the land.
It was hard on Snow, having such a glamorous mom.
She rebelled by wearing torn shawls and baggy gowns.
Her mother would sometimes say, "Snow darling, why don't you pull back your hair? Show those pretty eyes?" or "Come on, I'll take you shopping.
" Snow preferred staying in her safe room, looking out of her window at the deer leaping across the lawn.
Or she'd practice her dance moves with invisible princes.
And the Queen, busy being Queen, didn't like to push it.


Written by Godfrey Mutiso Gorry | Create an image from this poem

THE GARDEN OF DEATH

 Weak but alive
dying yet still alive
huge eyes
round like golf balls 
white as bones
Bony framed
fleshless
Pus in orifices
worms
teeth, white teeth
skull and bones.
Am sorry for life Oh this pain deeper than Only death can save My friend, I am sorry That you pain When you sleep, wake Pain, blindness Damn anguish – no thoughts emerge When engulfed by pain Such heart is dead Am sorry; Oh this life! A taboo You will die so Potstones thrown In the garden of death.
The nurse is no artist A greater artist has shown the nurse An art of degeneration A human form sculptured By an ailment of our time A thousand diseases in one.
And then these sufferings There will be no heaven here… Can’t eat – wounds in mouth Cant pee – balls on fire Weak and dizzy As thin as bones – is bones Skin and foul air Do not pity- There will be no heaven here A body ravaged beyond .
.
.
When looking for hell You will find it here.

Book: Shattered Sighs