Curs Poems | Examples

Femur Sighs

Femur sighs, given a break and transformed by love.
— by poet (inspired by Ira Byock)

What’s worse than an illness, an accident?
Imagine with me
helpless in the abyss…
Open to the curse of curs.

No warm or cold compress
No caress
No handkerchief

No matter how hard you have it,
if surrounded by compassion,
you’re not as broken.

A Black Knight's Tale

The round table spins;
yesterday I was the least,
children made sport of me,
scrawny curs snapped at my heels.
The King's favor is fickle.
The Queen shades her eyes,
a demurely cast down mien
a veil beneath which
simmers a flame we both have ignited.
Today I ride ahead of the throng,
my banner tall and straight.
Tomorrow is uncertain
the table will turn again.

For what can be, may not happen,
and what may happen never be,
better to turn the table
take the Queen by stealth,
let the world spin on.

Jagged

Jagged like spurs, harshness of curs
Relying on instinct
Spewing slurs, heart’s radiance blurs
Roaming ego’s precinct

We flounder in stupor
Rabid desires anchor 
Enmeshment in rancour

Ragged
Jagged

11-September-2021
Quietus

Reflections On a Street Corner

In an hour a thousand pass
Doctors, lawyers, truck drivers
Small and fat,
A straggly cat.
Six ladies in elegant furs
Two little boys chasing curs
A tottery, old man with a cane
The same scraggly cat again.
The local newsboy laden down
Big and small,
A runaway ball,
The corner cop awaiting the strike
Five o'clock, the rush hour jam
Wondering who I am
What I'm doing--

A Knights Tale

The round table spins again;
now I am the favored Knight.
Yesterday I was the least,
children made sport of me,
scrawny curs snapped at my heels.
The Kings favor is fickle.
The Queen shades her eyes,
her demure down cast mien
a façade, a veil beneath which
simmers a flame we both have ignited.
Today I ride ahead of the throng,
my banner tall and straight.
Tomorrow is uncertain
the table will turn again
and I must creep into the queen
as wickedly as she will allow.
For what can be, may not happen,
and what may happen never be,
better to crack the circle,
take the Queen
and let the world spin on.

Wulf and Eadwacer

Wulf and Eadwacer
ancient Anglo-Saxon poem
loose translation by Michael R. Burch

My clan's curs pursue him like crippled game; 
they'll rip him apart if he approaches their pack. 
It is otherwise with us.

Wulf's on one island; we're on another.
His island's a fortress, fastened by fens. (fastened=secured)
Here, bloodthirsty curs howl for carnage.
They'll rip him apart if he approaches their pack. 
It is otherwise with us.

My heart pursued Wulf like a panting hound,
but whenever it rained—how I wept!—
the boldest cur grasped me in his paws:
good feelings for him, but for me loathsome!

Wulf, O, my Wulf, my ache for you
has made me sick; your seldom-comings
have left me famished, deprived of real meat.

Have you heard, Eadwacer? Watchdog! 
A wolf has borne our wretched whelp to the woods!
One can easily sever what never was one:
our song together.

Little Red Runt

No? You don't have pity on me? You should!
   I'm sure you'd rather be a stick of wood
Food that doesn't smell so good, if you could
   ~ Rather than be me ...

Spend your days rained on, snowed on
   Hailed on, stepped on -- why stop here? --
Spat on, urinated and dumped on
   ~  Sniff my coat of rancid beer

What I've suffered, what I have endured
   From yellow rivers to cursed curs' turds -- 
The very thought of it all is too gross for words

Canine Conundrum

Dogs
                   loyal, friendly
             licking, playing, rescuing
     companions, sentries, threats, enemies
             barking, biting, mauling
                   mean, mangy
                        Curs

I Survived the Fourth of July

Thankfully, another Fourth of July has come and went,
 
   Providing a day for folks to celebrate to their hearts content!

Its good that a day is set aside to honor the birth of our nation,

   To enjoy parades, hot dogs, hamburgers and a tad of libation.

All of this is well and good yet I have a genuine complaint!

   Why can't obnoxious neighbors use a modicum of restraint,

When setting off their fireworks all up and down the street?

   It sounds as if world war three has begun as each of them compete!

Adding to the din is the howling of dozens of neighborhood curs.

   Even my cat gets upset and starts to yowl when this occurs!

Fireworks vendors swarmed into town by the legion;

   Mercifully, they've folded their tents and left the region!

Now, maybe I can get some much needed sleep 'til next July,

   When all hell breaks loose again and on that you can rely!

Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired

One Sunday Morning

Sunday Morning 

Puddles on cobblestones
 Had a film of spent 
rainbows,
 clouds rested on rooftops
 and tear streaked windows misted; 
dejected curs  
sniffed the air as a damp army 
of washing hung limply on balconies. 
Church bells peeled  
the faithful prepared for mass, 
unseen and 
under arches the tormented
 waited for the bar 
to open and release them 
from the agony of 
their lonely inferno.

Fabulous Fun Footles

Smell Clean!

Sometimes
no rhymes

do we
all see.

Blogs read
instead

can be
ugly.

Some peeps
are creeps.

So sly -
they spy

like moles
in holes.

Yes, sirs,
those curs

bait lambs
and ma’mes.

Some joke
with folk

or tease
blog-ees

Don’t mind
those kind!

But they
can say

mean things
with zings

to poke
at folk;

start fight -
they bite!

As hogs
at blogs

they squeal 
to feel

like Kings
of things.

Beware 
them there.

Shy guys,
be wise.

Just stay
away.

Trolls might
one night

just roam
your poem;

slam it;
say sh#@.

I think
they stink

with words
like turds.

Advice:
Be nice.

Smell clean,
not mean!


Written March 20, 2017 for Jan Allison's Fabulous Fun Footles Contest

America the Plentiful - Repost

that love is freedom shared by the willing,
    is truth we hold to be self-evident,
  and thus we mold flamboyant bells to ring,
    declaring ourselves still as relevant;

  but what remains of dawn’s once early light?
    so dim the morning, grim, growing hungry,
      no different than stomachs worn by our own;

  the Romans once, designed such plans of plight,
    with soldiers starved and charged wanting to flee,
      so weary they became - victims in stone;

  I say I see an empire, fallen, here,
    repeating mistakes made once long before,
  but let’s build a new mall, just over there,
    then send our children to pay with a war;
  
  we stupid people, yes I’m included,
    laughing with love freely changing our mind,
      are spewing out lies redolent of vile;
 
  for all will starve when the grain’s polluted,
    and all stomachs too, shall hunt with eyes blind,
      curs-ed be we, embracing denial. 

    

7/30/2016

Submitted for:  DENIAL

Sponsored by:  Julia Ward

The Life Without You

The life without you
is like a tree without flowers, 
the moon without the stars,
a kiss without lips,
long wandering love,
the weary heart may faint for rest,
and a body without soul...

The life without you
is like a drifting foam of a restless sea
when the waves show their teeth
in the flying breeze,
and wave of the sea driven with the wind and tossed.

The life without you
is like village curs that bark when their fellows do, 
a shadow of a great hill, 
that reaches far out over the plain, 
and the setting of a tropical sun.

The life without you
is like a sea-worm, 
that perforates the shell of the mussel,
which straightway closes the wound with a pearl, 
and rainbow, thou didst fade.

The life without you
Is like a blossom blown before a breeze,
a white moon drifts before a shimmering sky,
and my memories burn like a living coal in my soul.

By Seth Yuhi Musinga

The Bridle of Love

THE BRIDLE OF LOVE

Put on the bridle of love, or the dark places
Will inhabit your soul like a dream of plunder:
Put on the bit of desire, lest the old faces
Merge in passionate moments and betray wonder.

You pledge only with the combat of the hours
Your words fall in the silence, like coins jingling
Into the hand of the fortune-teller, who scours
Your reverie of love on your palm, tingling

Of a stranger.  You are an actuary where a shadow
Turns fascination to death.  Put on the bridle
Of tenderness -  forgiveness, sad and low,
Can whistle with the raindrops, idle

As witnesses of profound truth.  Curs
Snap at gentleness when their hunger stirs.

Are There Any of Us Left

The cruel streets I walked made me sad
I looked not at him, nor at her
Those who passed me by, gutter grads
I felt at home among the curs
We were outcasts from hearth and home
Over the land our kind did roam.

Looking here and then searching there
As many as stars in the sky
By foot, by car, sometimes by air
We wanted to understand why
We couldn't go back where we'd been
Burned our bridges and that's a sin.

Some were poets within their hearts
A killer or two in the crowd
And some were like me; a la carte
Doing what it took to be proud
Some chased women, some ran from them
And in the melee some lost a gem.

I sit here writing words of mine
Wondering how many are left
Who write words and sell for a dime
I have escaped death's cold, cold theft 
I have fought the fight and I've won
I'm old yes, but I've just begun

• Short Curs Poems
• Famous Curs Poems
• Best Curs Poems
• Read Curs Poems
• Long Curs Poems
• Curs Quotes