Ow Poems | Examples


Premium Member ME - OW

butterflies hover
because they can't crawl ~ but one
was trying to crawl
but it did not let it crawl
not let a butterfly crawl

what monstrosity
to let a fragile wee thing 
not to crawl
we'll call animal control
and see what they have to say

they'll probably ask
to have 'um locked and put
away for sometime
but strike of the final blow
was the coup de grace~it's dead

a death for a death
but sir, it's just an insect
not a real person
where's the compassion I heard
all murderers in my book

so he'll get away
with the crime he committed
no body no crime
that's the way cookies crumble
I'll take you to the body

of a butterfly
it's not animal control
but men with the nets
but those guys they euthanize
not lock up that murderer

its a pussy cat
if you want to put a name
on that killer's face 
it's Jeffrey Dahlmer or the
Zodiac killer so there

wit ow uh woman

.

                 I woke this morn
                   eve were gone

              I showered this morn
          i left the towelz in the dryer

        I prepared breakfast this morn
                   i burnt the eggs

    Twixt stanzaz i prepped noon'z meal
             i drank wine 'stead milk

       I got lost this eve'nin tap'n think
               i skipped mine dinner

I showered tonight with mine in eve's wet
 she giggled az i divulged mine nun hern
     whilst she worked her double shift

Ow

Frau cow now chow
How thou plow prow?
"Pow wow!" vow sow


Ow My Shoulder

I’m so sore
Up off the floor
Tripped over the dog gate
Fell against the crate
Reached to stop my fall
Slammed my thumb in the door
Stubbed my toe on the gate
Shooting pains, oh just great
My shoulder sore to the touch
And my toe went crunch
Watched the blood pool up 
All around my thumb
I hobbled over
To get some water
As the sink turned red
I thought with dread
Would my nail fall off?
Then how to apply polish?
But now thinking this over
Yeah ow, my shoulder!

Premium Member Ooh Ow Ouch

With my son and grandson...on my team 
My heart, my soul, and face...tends to gleam 
At age sixty years old 
I've often been told 
"Get Ben-Gay" (Ha)...you know what I mean

Premium Member A Tiny Me-Ow

Thunderstruck, by lightning's flash
   Pitter-patter, as he made his dash
For shelter from the gathering storm
   A mere ten steps was he from his dorm

When a tiny me-ow froze him in his tracks
   Then the heavens opened; dare he go back
Yet one more me-ow softened his firm resolve
   At moments like this, character evolves

He swept the kitten up into his arms
   He, deluge-drenched; she, unharmed
Reached his dorm, for all the world a human puddle
   Kitty purring contentedly, wanting only to cuddle

His roommates teased him; he didn't care
   Each new me-ow a reward for taking a dare


Poetry Soup Talks, Ow, Hot

Hot Soup talk is the pressure cooker's son!
Sweet derth of wicked tallows and 
wipped addicted frothing spider tounges!

But,

All Poets are not the same.
They are born and then multiply
regressivily complexifying claims
to:
love 
loss
mother
and father
who cannot love
or loved enough
but find behind them
a second lack.

This other lack that follows,
that fills with words and 
signal flares a homage 
to trauma,
to enjoyed pain,
to futures cut from knowing
what can lack in love.

Premium Member Cat's Meal-Ow--

CAT'S MEal-OW--

cat-nips
ketchup
given
liven
dishes
wishes
cat fish
cat's wish
7/27/18
written  words by James Edward Lee Sr.©2018

Ow

I'm not just whining 
I'm not complaining 
I'm hurt. 

Don't tell me to stop
When it's real.

Oh Ow Beautiful Dove

Oh! Beautiful bird!
Oh! Nice little dove!
Having its bath...

How cute you are,
I love you!

How rainbow-coloured you are,
I love you!

Oooow, little pretty dove,
You are my Saturday poetical present,
You are my Staurday poetic inspiration!
'Cause, you are a blessed creature!

I love you so much, beautiful bird.


@Rita Solis Radius. October 2015. Poem " Oh! Ow! Beautiful Dove!"

The Ow Network

(A)	brown skin girl from Kosciusko 
                                             now from the world of Harpo (is)
                                                       hubristic in determination.

				Vitality is her achievement in Black America.
				         Patois she explores as she shares her vision that is 
					         Apparent to listening to her OWN intuition.
				
				Futuristic characteristic she deploys.
						A mason jar of lighting bugs to bring forth 
							to revolutionize via innovation.

				Ultramodern in her political activism.
					Argots as she speaks.
						She’s a trailblazer of ideas.
                                _______________________________________________|
                                                   Written February 20, 2016!

Ow --How He Loves---He Loves Me Like Crazy

Ow... How he Loves me so..
He Really does
Just think... Wow
He Loves me... 
                         Like CRrraazzy!!!

Just Knowing  that He... 
that he... 
that he... Truly 
Really Loves me!!!

I mean.. Wow... 
Can You believe this???
He.. For Real... 
He Loves Me!!... 
For me.... 
He Loves... Unconditionally...

Yes... just think about it
Ow... How God Loves... YOU!!!
Just the same... 
Yes.... He Loves  YOU... Like CRraazzy... too!!!!..

Did You know this???

Come to Jesus...
Know how Much God Loves US... 
                           Ow How He Loves Us... Like Crazy!!!

Ow.. Jesus... I Love you... too... Like Crazy!!!

Ow...My Head...

I can think of nothing else.
I can feel nothing else.
Nothing besides the pusling pain
Emmiting from the middle of my brain.

Is it the weather changing?
Is it my health changing?
Did I not sleep enough last night?
Or is just tension wringing it tight?

I see double of the keys,
Then one of each once more.
I can only guess these words...
I dare not look no more.

I guess the best and only cure,
Is to quit this creative allure.
And to crawl beneath my quilts,
And take leave of these throbbing jilts.

Headaches though such hindering irks,
Do possess such facinating quirks.
Just trying to locate the pain,
Takes more stratergy than any game.

Then indeed there is the question,
Of the type of ache that's made it's mention.
Round and round in circles it sends you,
Much how this poem continues.

Round and round your sulking head,
Till at last you drop into bed.
Albeit feeling like the dead.
Which is much the way it... stops.

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