Chapped Poems | Examples

Get Soft

That complete lack of moisturizer 
as the wind blew out of control.
Pummeled down to the ground,
chapped chaos kissed my lips.
Supple skin dried out
with one swift gust. 
Left starving
to get 
soft.

Makeup

Hello friends, makeup is a skillful art,                                    Do you agree or not, it is real,                                                 You know born babies need no cosmetics,                            He or she is naturally beauty,                                         Teenage girls attract towards the makeup,                       They spend more time before the wall mirror,                   lady of forties sits before a mirror more,                               for doing fine makeup their wrinkled faces,                       They use their skill to create their skin bright,                    The rose powder diminishes their wrinkles,                      Their eyes shown luminous by eyeliner,                          Lipstick changes their chapped lips certainly,                       By makeup fading rose like ladies faces,                           have become an enchanting rose lovely.

Joshua Moore Colorado

Hail needles the skin.
Wind cracks the spine.
The mountain holds,
breath seizes on the tongue.
Snow knives the summits.

Cracked hands fumble dry stone,
paper-thin air slices,
bald eagles tilt in the blast.

Alpine skiers parched,
no more Earth Day banners.
Cherry Creek scrapes its bed.

Feces in  the bedpan,
chapped gloss smeared,
cocoa hair salted and smoked.

The Zephyr rattles east,
carrying the mountains backward—
Grand Central dissolves

Josh Moore Colorado

Hail nails the skin.
Wind stabs the spine,
the mountain stretches,
breath freezes the tongue,
Snow visible on the summits

High-altitude crumbling 
cracked hands claw at dry stone,
Paper thin air
sharp, jagged edges.
Bald Eagles circle overhead

Alpine sky, dry and broken—
no more Earth Day vegetation 
Cherry Creek scrapes the sand
She lifts the bedpan 
Chapped gloss superstar lips
Cocoa fur, stained by cigarette smoke
and the wind carries all,
The Zephyr rolls in 
Grand Central Station
Peaks in background

Merry Winter

You can tell it's finally winter,
the glaze of icy glitter
Darker mornings, sun late dawning
Freezing cold and bitter

Woollen hats, chunky scarfs
slippery and sliding paths
children's runny noses
Red lips and looking chapped

A festive time
Happy elves and Santa's sack
He sees if you've been good or bad
I know that for a fact

Christmas crackers, candy canes
Songs are played and party games
winter is for all to enjoy
No matter what your age

A special season, I love so much and that will never change

Two Worlds

When I was little,
life was supposed to be filled with laughter,
sticky fingers from melting ice cream,
and afternoons lost in make-believe,
toy cars and plastic dinosaurs battling in the living room.
I’d look up at the adults, safe in their tallness,
never guessing that one day,
I’d be the one holding up the walls.
Instead, my afternoons were cluttered with sighs,
echoing through a quiet house,
where I’d drag your slumped figure from the front steps,
breathe in the stale scent of beer that clung to you
like a second skin.
Eight years old, trying to stand tall enough
to be your keeper.
When I was little,
Mom was supposed to pack my lunch,
Capri Suns and fruit roll-ups,
instead, mom wasn't ever there
I was busy slicing bread,
rationing out the peanut butter,
making sure my little brother had more than crumbs.
I’d wanted crayons, chalk, new paintbrushes, OH! the pink bike, and maybe an iphone
but my pockets held grocery lists,
my hands chapped and rough,
scrubbing dishes, sweeping floors,
Searching for that imaginary line
that had been drawn somewhere
between us:
the parent I wished for,
the parent I became.

Simply Gorgeous - NOT

My doc said that I have some sun damaged skin
He gave me some cream that I had to rub in
Just once a day for twenty eight days
My face is now changing in so many ways

In week one I thought it was not doing much
In week two I found my face sticky to touch
In week three I saw angry rashes appear
In week four the whole process stepped up a gear

There in the mirror, it could be an error
But have I turned into the Trollenberg Terror?
It’s itchy as hell and my skin won’t behave
I’ll have to be brave because I need to shave

Did I scrape my skin off, am I bleeding out 
If I were a lady, I doubt I could pout
My skin is on fire, I’ve got a chapped nose
I pray for chapped lips, I’m okay with those

But I read the leaflet and Googled online
And everything told me that soon I’ll be fine
“The worse that it gets then the better it works.”
I’ll live with the giggles from passerby jerks

It’s day twenty-eight and I’m rubbing it in
I look like a monster as it heals my skin 
I’m slapping that cream on for all I am worth
To make me the most gorgeous man on this Earth

The Calling

She chapped my door
Said she was a whore
She was in the area
Offering discounts and more
I was a bit taken aback
Usually it was double glazing, broadband and that
Or Jehovah's witnesses
Into the night
She even took cards
Explained the APR
Extras and all
S&M on a Saturday night
Would I like a call
I must admit
Impressed I was
She was a woman with a cause
Sadly, the good lady screamed
Who’s at the door
I told her a whore
Bloody Jehovah's she swore

Could you

Could you love me
Could you love my chapped lips
Would you kiss them
Could you love my bitten nails
Would you hold my hands anyway 
Could you love my tear stains
Would you wipe my crying eyes
Could you love my body
Would you hold me as if I were perfect 
Could you love my mind
Would you pretend it was good
Could you love me
And
Would you if you still could choose

She left me

She left me
one fine spring day.
I didn't see it coming,
or rather her going away.

Winter came because
she left me.
My heart chapped from
the coldness of her exit.

I couldn't find her
to beg her back since
she left me
I remain a total wreck.

Time has passed but
I still cry in my bed that
has become a tomb in which
she left me.

Viator Form by ©SamHarty

Scandies Rose

Will you remain with us, Scandies Rose?
We'll always be your rugged salty crew,
chapped by the ocean's kiss.
You were our mainstay and our vessel,
you faded down the depths with us.
The sea with her surface of blue glass,
of swells of tempests-
Our sweet Rose,
twenty foot seas and icing,
forty mile per hour winds.
You were listing on your starboard side,
and now the oceanic beauty has our bodies
in her tidal bosom.
The sun gifts the brine golden,
yet, there was never a promise to return to
a misty welcoming harbor.

Neath eve stars,
our wives awakening from dreams without
rest.
Our children's faces stream with tears
trickling down into the receiving seas of
our spirits.
Will the mysteries, the finality of the deep
turn them to another life on land?

In the moss-green waves,
in the seabird's cries our souls
are sealed.
Yet, Poseidon's loss,
as we are everlasting sons
of our Lord's keep. ~

Being Different

I felt I gave so much
the sweat a badge of giving
chapped hands a merit of honour

But it was just never enough
furrowed brows and high expectation
ripped into my soul

My history steeped
a working class mentality
am I mean't to give so much?

I pulled away so far
now lost in years of nothing
wishing for so much more

Trying to break free
trying to be who I need to be
and fighting through the shame...

Of an unemployed underachiever
Who just wanted so much more!

A True Story of Humpty Dumpty

I was sitting on the wall
And I suffered a great fall
Stupid horses came around
Couldn’t see me on the ground
Then of course, Kings men attend
None of them knew how to mend
They kicked off my pieces, scattered
Left me lying ruined, shattered
Then Mad Hatter picked my bits
Took me home in paper sheets
Glued me thoroughly, with care
And his company, March Hare
Treated me with jasmine tea
Which the Dormouse brewed for me
Sitting in a comfy bowl
I won’t try another fall
I’m recovered from that stroke
But those Kings men, what a joke
I was lucky to get Hatter
With the mind that’s over matter
Now I’m living like a king
Chapped, but still a precious thing.

Antisocial Humanitarian

I only worship at my own altar
I do not even go to nightclubs 
I do not even know the Kaaba 
Or kneel for a word of prayer 
Not even a chant in the stadium 
I do not even like talking to others 
When I do 
It always comes back to me, Karma 
I feel stressed to see a banker 
Its even worse with doctors 
Unless I am dying, Nirvana
and my lips are all chapped 
That's when I call for mother 
To heal me rebirth me 
Madonna, Miracle worker
What kind of man? I wonder 
But my poems are a way to reach ya
Hold your hand, touch ya
Share myself,  appreciate ya
Show my dirt, entertain ya 
Heal your heart, medicate ya 
Share my thoughts, Liberate ya 
Make you like me, Imitate ya 
It is always with love, I seduce ya
And when your are  lost, Calibrate ya 
So without going Further 
I do this for you  with care 
If you find it in you  return a favour
For an Antisocial Humanitarian

Winter Comes Early In the Mountains

Rugged mountain peaks are now snow-capped
Wintry weather creeps down with passing days,
The lips on the blossoms are faded and chapped.

Many of the larger critters are sadly trapped,
For they have not adjusted to our urban ways
Rugged mountain peaks are now snow-capped.

Tall, spindly pines are in thin snowsuits wrapped
In the wind a snow-laden limb melodically sways
The lips on the blossoms are faded and chapped.

Native brown bears, fat and lazy, seem zapped
As they search for a safe place while winter splays
Rugged mountain peaks are now snow-capped.

Before the snow can melt, it is once again lapped
Piling up high, thwarting mountain hiking forays
The lips on the blossoms are faded and chapped.

For years the mountain trails have been mapped
It’s possible to enjoy those Christmas Eve sleighs
Rugged mountain peaks are now snow-capped
The lips on the blossoms are faded and chapped.

Written October 29, 2022

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