Best Cut Corners Poems | Poetry

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The Best Cut Corners Poems

 
Details | Cut Corners Poem | Create an image from this poem.

The Straight Road

Remember those that cut corners will go around in circles
And those with one’s mind attached to a string pulled which way what ever
Be of one’s self honest and the truth will find the right road.

© Harry J Horsman 2013   


Copyright © harry horsman | Year Posted 2013

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The candle of my life

Sticky handprints on my door
Muddy truck tracks across my floor
Laundry piling up galore
Imperfect photos for decor
These are the things a mom adores

Little feet headed towards my bed
The darnedest things my kids have said
Neatly cut corners on sandwich bread
These are the thoughts occupying my head

Watching as my babies grow
Learning things, they didn't know
Tossing a ball to and fro
Wishing time would go so slow
The candle of my life, I dare not blow


Copyright © Anna Hopper | Year Posted 2015




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Hunger Spot

                                 Hunger Spot

Hunger is usually done alone, in the dirty card board box, called home
On wet, cut corners out of traffic, forever in unguarded dark
Winds, harsh voices, howling on hollow self and scene are what remain
The food is gone, never to return
Hunger; it reminds you of life, of chronic pain, leaving little else
I tried to eat my shoe today, thinking it was leather…It was not
Plastics should come in assorted varied flavors
To see me through the night
I expect things to get better in my box
If not, there is always hunger to fill this empty spot


Revised 11/03/14 for- "Any Poem 12- line MAX"- Poetry Contest



Copyright © Earl Schumacker | Year Posted 2014

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he who loves you

The ups and downs of life
Can not be cut with a knife 
When the rope is pulled to drag 
You down when your trying to balance both
When times are hard we try to stay a float 
With out braking the bank 
So we start to cut corners 
Keep what we need sell what can buy 
Food to the soul to keep going 
Strong turn to your faith 
To the hands that will pull you out 
No matter what no matter how 
He is there to see us threw 
When in thought turn to the one 
Who knows you before you wore 
In your mothers womb 
When in despair and no one is there
Reach for the high that will fill 
You with warmth and tears of joy
Aim a witness I been there 
Where your headed and a voice 
Called out to me tie the rope around hope
Bend your knees and praise him 
There is no greater power 
For he is of love we must grow as life goes on
Were not alone reach for faith love hope 
Seek his love is for ever lasting 


  






Copyright © mirian parrilla | Year Posted 2010

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Life is a Race

When the signal is given,
everyone steps on the line,
ready to start the journey of life.
Some focus on the goal,
striving to be the best.
Another moves on without care,
looking as others pass him by.
Many even cut corners,
cheating their way through the race.
Some may pay dearly for this.
Others may scale through without reprove.
Some may even run with speed,
but break the rules of the game.
These have no reward at the end.
So run your race with care,
to end well and get your reward.


Copyright © Modupe Sefunmi | Year Posted 2012

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Ode to Just Another Writer

So finally the book is done
You'd think I had some time for fun
The query letters have been sent
There's some cash left to pay the rent
The mail man comes by every day
He waves to me and goes away
You grab the letters stacked inside
At this point you've got no pride
Ads and bills are all that's there
Do the agents really care?
How the hell do you get fame?
If no one really knows your name
Do you try and make a pitch?
Will that really make you rich?
And who the hell will pay the bill?
If nothing's left inside your till
So do I just go back and write?
Is this not a losing fight?
Can't cut corners anymore
Need my nickels for the store
For fame I'll have to wait awhile
While pushing burgers with a smile
No need to feel both sad and sour
Hey! My pay's ten bucks an hour!


Copyright © Gary Kraidman | Year Posted 2013

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Forever Last

In this race for thick thighs,
Cute faces, and beautiful minds,
Nice guys finish last.
As i give 110 %,
Exherting all of my energy,
Others half-ass, cut corners, and still succeed.
As i read chapters, words cover to cover,
Others pick by flamboyant fronts,
I barely stop for water breaks,
While others sip champagne...
In this race for thick thighs,
Cute faces, and beautiful minds,
Nice guys finish last.
They say finishing the race is an award itself,
But for me,
Each time i cross the line,
The tourniquet turns tighter around hope,
Squezing every ounce until there is no more,
Somehow, Some way, Someone,
Boosts my self confidence,
And props up my flemsy faith in you,
Just to be re-shot, and re-propped,
And re-shot, and re-propped because...
In this race for thick thighs,
Cute faces, and beautiful minds,
Nice guys finish last,
Or not at all.


Copyright © Joshua Butler | Year Posted 2007

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REGRETTING CAKE

REGRETTING CAKE My life in crumbles, vanilla-chocolate, I lick my wounded fingers, tastes so good. To stay in shape, I frost my lips… de-lish, Cut corners on the square, I really should. Regretting cake, from my head down to my feet… Such a shame it is so sweet, I repeat… Regretting cake, from my head down to my feet… Deciding whether a half or quarter, Will satisfy my broken heart - a gift. Don’t want to invite friends over…all mine. Generous frosting, gives those pounds a lift. Regretting cake, from my head down to my feet… Such a shame it is so sweet, I repeat… Regretting cake, from my head down to my feet… I’ve weighed my cake, it’s atrociously slim, Though you can find its slices upon me. My pimpled countenance hazards applause, My broken heart - he'd not even know me. Regretting cake, from my head down to my feet… Such a shame it is so sweet, I repeat… Regretting cake, from my head down to my feet… 8/9/2016 Contest by Julia Ward


Copyright © Kim Rodrigues | Year Posted 2016

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Taking the far way

I'll take the far way
I won't cut corners
Or take shortcuts
The flesh moves on it's own
The mind understanding stillness
All the past remains set in stone
Thoughts of the future left unknown
Only in the now do I find my home


Copyright © Eric Oakley | Year Posted 2016

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Sestina of milk, nails, and copper

drink your 5 year old milk,
boy!  I know where you live, stop painting your nails
like a girl, boy!  Aging copper
tones cut corners in my ink-
stained eyes from the lies you told, melted from the heat
surrounding this empty day.  From the dust

the day arises, filling in the gap between the other dust
which is now floating in your milk.
Oh horrid image of powder-milk—in the heat,
No less!  An image I would have nailed
To the back of the ink-
Tarnished vapors in your head, loner. It all goes copper

Under the sun’s furious copper—
Melting rays.  Ashes to dust
To my pen, once full of ink,
Now wasted.  No use cryin, spilled milk
Is the least of your trials.  Nail
It to your face and watch it ferment in sun’s heat.

Heat that will kill you.  Heat
That will burn you up and melting copper
That I didn’t want anway—like copper nails—
Only in existence to Bind me Rusty or turn me to green dust,
Worthless anyway.  Then I wouldn’t have to drink your damn milk
I’d get my own nutrients instead—I’d drink the ink

From my pen.  My soul comes out inky,
Spills dark revelations on a page that burns in the heat
Of my gaze, always staring.  Then dowsed in milk
To cover the burning sensation of my copper 
Nose.  Amethyst, the shiny purple—also to dust
It turns.  We build jeweled crutches out of nails,

Crutches we use to walk on, or trip over the deadly spikes of bedded nails
Jutting forth its powerful poisonous ink
Staining all that was once good, makes it dusty
And kills me, burns at the stake, the heat,
Too much to bear.  Dangling my copper
Jewelry singes my white milky

Skin.  Using my nails I scratch me for never drinking enough milk.
Melted ink pours over rich copper
Which turns to dust…I’m done with this last sip of milk.  


Copyright © Brooke Wolfe | Year Posted 2007

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I'm Breathing

All this time I thought that if I continued to pour my love into you, you'd eventually love me just as much. 
I thought that my love could save you. 
That my love could mend your brokenness.
I gave and I gave and you continued to take.
Draining me slowly,  but you were mine so I kept asking God to renew my strength. 
I continued to love you, but you started to take more of me more often. 
So often, that I couldn't replenish myself fast enough. 
When you were hurt, I dove in to touch all the spots that needed healing. 
When you were broken, I found the glue to put your pieces back together. When you were sour, I took my nectar and poured it over you to make you sweeter. 
When you were mean, I took that in and made you kind. 
If you were low on energy, I pushed my energy on you to fill you back up so that you could conquer the world. 
But you needed more, and you needed it faster. 
I began to cut corners and found other ways to patch myself up so that I could sustain the love that we both needed. 
I put you on my back, even though it was too much weight for me to bare. When my back gave out, I put you on my shoulders. 
I'm sinking. I'm sinking slowly, but yet I'm still trying to find a way to push you up. 
I feel my breath slowly being taken away, but if I can just save you I know you're stronger, so you can pull me up. 
But as the hurt, the pain, the lies began to take my last breaths, I reached for your hands and you let mine go.
I'm sinking, and I see you watching me. 
I'm reaching for you, but you don't lift a hand. 
Everything that I took on was too much for you to bare. 
The only way you could survive was by stepping off my shoulders and letting me go. 
I wanted to fight but you had taken every bit of fight I had in me. 
I had nothing left, so I gave In a began to let go. 
I felt a peace arise and I thought this was it. 
But then I felt this calmness and He said not yet. 
He pulled me up and began replenishing my air. 
He saved me bit by bit. 
I'm starting to breath on my own again but I can still see your face watching me drown. 
It hurts like hell. But I'm breathing. 
Inhale deep. 
Exhale slowly. 
I'm breathing...


Copyright © Jaylanea Holmes | Year Posted 2017

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Born Again

 

I made my home on the soft sands of the riverbed,
It seemed so right but I wasn’t thinking ahead.

Of the dangers that waited I could not see,
Who would have thought a little rain would be the downfall of me?

The first few days were truly wonderful, really quite grand,
Till the flood came one night then I realized quickly the old saying of never set your
foundation in sand.

Take it to bedrock no matter the cost,
For without a strong foundation all will someday be lost!

Never cut corners when your life you’re just starting to build,
And follow Gods word if you truly want to be filled.

For without His anointing you’re building on sand,
And you’ll truly never find life’s happiness till you take hold of His hand.

We are all His children and we should follow Him like sheep,
For He is the Sheppard and in His book our names He does keep.

Sometimes we all get to thinking we don’t need help in the things that we do,
And I had that thought myself till I realized He will help you over every hurdle if you’ll
only ask Him to!

Maybe this should be the moral of this story,
Without morals you’ll not receive His Glory.

He tells us to turn from our ways of sin,
Receive His cleansing blood be reborn, be Born Again!


Copyright © Ronald Bingham | Year Posted 2008

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Poems About My Poems

Poems About My Poems

Should read my poems and discover design;
You immediately will know they are mine;
Cut corners and curbs;
Only used few verbs;
Not only that they are always mighty fine.

Limericks which I wrote can never be beat;
When read are always will be quite a treat;
History in making;
So breath taking;
Where bright minds come together and meet.

Each one of my poems do seem so splendid,
And when read wish they had never ended;
Should avidly read,
To meet each need;
Into space and time they became suspended.

How I do want you to feel was well-assured;
As well as enjoyed my poems word for word;
Had found a few,
Pleasing to you,
And author is me to you had it ever occurred.

My each poem can be found in native land,
And you may measure them when spanned;
Second to read needed,
So they all stampeded;
Rose saw Trump and tiny was his each hand.

James Thesarious Hilarious Horn
Retired Veteran and Poet
Bolivia, NC


Copyright © James Horn | Year Posted 2017