Addiction Abc Poems | Examples
These Addiction Abc poems are examples of Abc poems about Addiction. These are the best examples of Abc Addiction poems written by international poets.
A sonnet to a friend
Lately, every evening, I listen to music on
short clips on the internet
I have not been taking this art seriously
busy as I have been composing unwilling words
trying to create art
How wrong I was not to hear
It is all there, beautiful humanity
in classical form or popular
Suddenly, as my world is coming to an end
the beauty I have missed by not listening to
the love expressed in an instrument or in
A human voice makes me long for more years
The Breakup
How cruel I was
cold shoulder against love
no reconciliation
her heart was as cold
as mine
The night was endless
The day saved by a dog
I had some news beginning
but without her
She was not a part
It ended fairly
She had a home, but not
near
My aloneness was great
the dog and I, in the forest
unruffled by reality
Eating lunch in a beautiful
café, she came in and I
desired her greatly
I was in love, wrote hot
poems nothing could
ever go wrong
We know, life is perfect
I had tiered her out;
She wanted to be free
Freedom is a must, but
When freedom hurts those
We love, we have failed
Tristesse
The hotel room in St. Asaph (Wales) was damp
and smelt of spent body passion, I didn’t have a coin
for the gas metre; in the decomposing bed, a woman
Snored, and from the depth of my soul
the beginning of an anguished scream.
The morning was ashen as my face, and fine drizzle fell.
The hotel bar was closed, and I walked with aching bones
for miles while the heavens descended.
Apocalypse Now!
No such luck, when the clouds parted, the hills
where green with grazing sheep is.
Dear God, where were you yesterday when I married
A scullery maid, have you no mercy?
Digging Deep
My dreams are bigger than my talent
The mission warned us against females
Women should be sure
It was understood that the withdrawal
from the competition, it is overlooked
It is morning on a gray day, and mist clings
to our old bodies that smell of time
spent in the underbelly of society
We lost the cruel war to be the master in
The battle of words of truth
I have stopped digging the deep well
It was dry and had the dust of dead air
The Nordic Tribe
There is a movement of Scandinavians
going to the South of Europe, they have their church,
cafes and shops selling the type of food sold in
the North. The Spaniards, say, accept and ignore them
because these strange northerners came here for
The sun does not take anyone’s work.
You can call the economic refugees; it is cheaper here
and that also keeps the heating bill low.
The people of the North dislike refugees coming to their
country, a place to live, and they protest loudly.
One day, when the economy in the south is on par with
the Nordic one, who will leave, or seek other shores
where they can live as kings among the lesser
The Northerners are racists by nature, but do follow
the money and its fluctuations, and they can
See the local people where they have temporarily
sought shelter as foreigners.
elderly and Helen Mirren
It is hard work to be old; many people prey on us, the elderly
My wife is better at telling people to fob off than I am
When people tell me a sob story, I tend to believe
What they, why else will they tell
My wife and I are very different; she likes to speak to
people in a cafe or a waiting room at the doctor's, yes, we
Do see many doctors, with age comes the infirmary
I sit there and try not to look at the clock
She comes from an upper-class family without money
I am from a modest background with a tendency not to spend
money, but safe for a day, it might rain, and we will be
caught in the downpour without an umbrella
Yes, in public, we hold hands, we get the condescending
glances, oh, how sweet they are
I feel annoyed like Helen Mirren, wishing that people would
off and leave us in peace
A Newspaper
Elon Musk, a liberal newspaper that never tires
of writing about his wealth, also, for the most part
dislike him, and the power that follows in the wake
We read in the Guardian that Elon Musk is trying to
Get a license for the electricity market with Tesla
The paper points out that Musk has met Putin
and can't be trusted, he is a security risk, that
The remark is quietly funny
A meeting between two giants, I would like to
have been there, my world is mundane, what's
for lunch, and petrol in the car, but we accept
On our part, avoid the struggle to be the top dog in
in command for a moment of worshipful praise
before disappearing into a historic footnote.
Expressions
Yesterday I wrote about observing facial expressions
so much can be said of the unsaid, where a smile often
it is a shield against the hurt of loose, unscripted words
AI, suggested it could help, I let it help, but the result
flawless, I must say, was no longer what I wrote
AI suggested I should alter some words to sound
more positive, overlooking the slight hesitation of one
not sure he is right, a lack of irony which I think is vital
in our daily life
My article about facial observance was no longer mine
it had little to do with what I was thinking at the time
I ask, how does AI know what a correct expression is
A Leonine Moment (2003)
Yellow lion teeth like petals of love
I picked the green savannah grass,
It had just stopped raining and pearls,
as a glass bead around a cub's neck,
glinted in the sun that had been hiding
behind rain pregnant clouds, thunder
and lightning; far away, I heard
A lion's roar, inconsolable was its loss.
Double yellow lines
I sit inside a massive fog of nothingness
plays on my imaginary piano using one finger
a ditty, sun outside, sun inside, sun only sun
I feel massively and supremely untalented
Now that the amalgamation of writers, poets
dancers, trampoline ladies, and painters that
lived inside of me, has turned into a block
immovable zero
I look at a black dot ringed by a grey cloud
If I stare at this long enough, the cloud might
disappear, only it is not, it turns into a dervish
The amalgamation has fractured, and I sit on
a rowing boat on a green sea, watching gulls
white as angels fly upward into a hole in
a void, at last, there is silence, and I'm at ease
With my vastly incompetent self
The bordello camp
Morning in Aruba, the cock has crowed three times
Men get out of beds that hundreds have slept in
of other men, they are silent, waiting for taxis
to take them back to their ship
Sad men, there is no jubilation here, cigarette smoke
A cold morning beer while waiting for the transport
A seaman, overcome by the tardiness, tries to run away
There is nowhere to run; the whore camp is in the desert
on a desert, sand, bushes, and snakes.
The madman, plied with alcohol, is sleeping.
The other carried him onboard.
In the courtyard, a woman swipes the dance
floor, doesn't bother to look up, when this day ends
They will be back again, or someone like them
will come, here, drink, dance, and pay for sex
Sauntering
How does one go about writing
a lovely poem, one that does not have lines
like comparing her eyes to a crying
Morning rose alone all night in the garden
I like olives, not the plant that is, rather
boring, but it's fruit, in a jar with the pips
taken out and free of bother, going through
pages finding a word that fits with olive
I wrote a poem themed on Oedipus,
But the site that prides itself on publishing
Everything, you can find the poem unless
You are prepared to look to dawn.
Let me say something trite: I'm happy
to have a roof over my head, but if the
The roof is not yours, one has to side with
those in power of the day.
Paradoxical revolution
Enough of this, I have been standing still far too long
I shall become revolutionary, not murmur descent
For fine-tuned ears, no, I will scream my hatred to
the ruling elite with a megaphone, cultured dancers
Delight, amaze, waving a wand like I'm a magician, and
wish for the capitalists to sink under the sand
I shall spare no one, least of all the friendly billionaire
the only wealthy man whose flaws are open
For you to discover, he is a poet of the heart, and his businesses are a sideline while waiting for the magic
of words
I shall demand that Facebook and X must stop selling
Smut, they will be closed down
Get me right, an equal society must become unequal
for the sake of the common good.
from the news
A tomato met a non-tuber plant
sweet music
a birth to what is known
as potatoes, these days also called fries
Just think if the tomato had not
been so unfaithful trying it on with
any passing plant
What would our diet be like
without the beloved spud
I read this in a paper that extols the free press
With the mild hand of exceptions
These days, the paper has fallen on hard times
and had sold out to real estate
not the two-up and one bathroom
houses in the millionaire class, after all
One has to show class
This morning, an article about jellyfish, that
In my youth, there were plentiful along the coast
of Norway, some of them stung
Now we have to go to the Outer Hebrides to
Find one in shallow pools
What I took away from the morning paper
was of potatoes, tomatoes, and the selling
of posh houses
A Yellow silk scarf
He bought a yellow silk scarf at a second-hand shop
In Cheshire, the type actors were, when meeting for
A drinks party; the mirror told me he wore the scarf
With seedy elegance, which normally comes to those
Who has no self-awareness, better still, ignores what
Other people think.
In Ashdod, someone broke into his cabin, the thief
Stole his Ronson lighter, he could overlook that
But his yellow silk scarf went unforgiven forever