Scraps Poems - Poems about Scraps

Dinner scraps, primal deathtraps. Life’s meal is the class struggle, and some of us are left starving. We are the movement of the masses, a sleeping colossus running on corporate time. Dinner scraps, merciless steel traps. We are measured only as commodities. We give our lives as wage chattel. We make our homes or lose them on the edges of a time clock. Dinner scraps,...

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Off on tangent thinking avoiding stuff And I read: "The space between stars is not empty" It's beautiful and despite knowing we're talking dust clouds it just feels important Like the space between thoughts, the space between people, the space between life and death, the spaces filled with longing, confusion, desperation and despair I'm in a "don't know what...

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Here in my heart lies a patchwork of scraps alongside a love, once whole and beautiful Here in my soul pastiche melodies of songs that spoke of flower fields and loving you. ...

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Too many bits of paper With random rhyming words That flew out of my mind Like frightened little birds Not wanting to lose it I grab what I can find Rushing pen to paper release it from my mind Note books, scraps of paper With my thoughts written strong In every drawer and odd places Every word my hearts song So many thoughts and memories So many days...

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The Vote The lights are out, the night is still, The window’s ajar, there’s a sudden chill. Goosepimples multiply all over my skin, I know what I’ve done is a terrible sin. The demons are singing deep inside my head, I might not sleep when I do turn in for bed. First, I’ll sit by the fire and put up my feet, I...

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Henry VIII Henry VIII king of England, he had six wives, Half of which had rather shorter lives. Three died, two divorced and the last was glad by far, For she outlived him, her name Catherine Parr. Mash I love mash, I have a secret stash. I use up all my cash, To go and buy myself some mash. I’m fonder of the baked bean, Cos...

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Chimes, misdemeanors serenity finger tips fickle graced etudes...

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Scraps of paper mark his "paper-trail" thoughts - quick scribbled as they passed through the misty gate of ageing's veil cling to a dream that couldn't last sad ending to a lover's fading tale. Notes that measure time and date and place carried in the emptiness of now moments that the present can't embrace feelings that the past will not allow scraps of love...

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In my treasures like all of us hold, I have a bedspread, a fad of old. My mother cut millions of circles of scraps, From our little outgrown dresses she’d hold. She’d sew each circle into a little puff And lay it out on a sheet of pale green, Then make circles of that same pale green To design squares of printed...

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Within my bags of quilting stuff Are lots of little scraps, The remnants of some projects Which I saved, thinking perhaps… I would use them in the future Like they once did long ago When they gathered snips of fabric And a patchwork quilt they’d sew. It was done then from necessity So nothing went to waste And I’m sure that many beds With scrap-made blankets...

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You feel you'll never find love; no matter how hard you try. And yet, you still cling to hope; wiping a tear from your eye. You have little left to give; emptied of all but your soul. And your social life's askew; a square peg in a round hole. You're led to believe you're loved; only to be hurt again. And yet, you crave love...

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Fighting for scraps It’s so puzzling for the needy To understand how we got so greedy They had it all to share No walls or borders back there They didn’t appreciate, it’s so sad That they allowed the lie to drive them mad The more they wanted the less they had No need for roads or maps Mankind’s fighting over scraps The more you crave...

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The wind that bends the sticks and stems Sends a message that makes the lights grow dim I don't know when, but I will transcend This disaster and all its whims and trends After fomenting rebellion I was soon rescued And all I could think about was my niece and nephew A modern Pygmalion sculpting flesh and sinew waiting on life to...

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Momma made Dorothy a dress from the scraps off the factory floor, And a quit from worn out garments that were worn before. And the old buttons that survived became the christmas sock dolls eyes. She raised a family just on scraps, that kept us warm and had our backs. So please forgive me when I smile at...

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Scraps of Paper in my pocket with a word, written or a line, about what I think about, or what I want to think about. usually, just a word. when a thought is complete- i stop, and think of you the wonder and fascination just a word. when my life is over, I want to leave behind, these scraps of paper these words on a line, everyday amazement love you...

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