Short Addresses Poems
Short Addresses Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Addresses by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Addresses by length and keyword.
PRACTICAL LOVE
He caresses her tress
She presses her dress
He guesses her stress
She addresses his lustiness
Life is not a short street
with a single address...
Life is a long road with many
addresses along the way
Frankenstein was not afraid
of the creature that he made.
He grinned, and kindly said,
"Put a smile on your ugly mug.
Lighten up, you big ol' lug".
I cc on my emails
old addresses of
friends and family
who have passed
feeling good about
keeping them in the loop
and anticipating their replies
A better mousetrap he addresses
To the unbelieving masses.
Painless, bloodless, the creature won’t feel a thing!
They shake their empty heads at the impossible
For there is always hurt in Death’s Sting
There's A Party
Look dude, there's a party here pair
Addresses with each boyfriends hair
folks are a bit wary
when who enters Sherry
with boyfriend who's bald name is Blair
Written: Jan. 1, 2016
Theresa
Beauty knows how to rejoice the eyes.
Music performs wonders to please the ears.
Textures love delighting the senses.
Poetry speaks the language of the heart.
Art addresses directly the soul.
AP: Honorable Mention 2026
Britannica and Wikipedia are great sources
Cannot put in website addresses into items
on Poetry Soup
Today is Robin Williams Birthday.
I have written several poems about him
in Poetry Soup. You can look through all
of my poems to find them and read them
You are welcome.
Form:
A fruitless vein
Ruptures the
plexus
Of society’s esophagus
Embellishing virtual
pleasure
Within browsers of
opinions
Innovations, ideas,
revolutions
Traded for
corruption and malice,
Paranoia on the rise,
Innocence sucked,
swallowed, and
spewed
Into the IP addresses
of democracy
Ahmadinejab Will Give You Head...Yours
(OR)
"There are no gays in Iran"
then where are they?
the gays that are "phenomena"
the ones NOT in Iran?
"What is their addresses?"
there are NONE in Iran.
They are technically in Earth
Crying, walking alone
And no matter what they say
My people just talk
I hate the city
My people kill each other
By the guns in their tongues
The fake smile on my lips
Walking alone and the people
Just ask me some addresses
Who cares the tears
I must be hurry up
Death waits me over the city
Censorship Rains Supreme when Truth is harsh!!!....
...#]#-* ||{@: }@>?{~ <:{_+}~ @{}:
a moment of trust
love from above and below
tree limbs embrace snow
© Joseph, 1/1/08
© All Rights Reserved
Comments: The Japanese Haiku format has three lines. The first has five
syllables. The second has seven syllables, and the third five syllables. The
pattern is 5/7/5 for a total of seventeen syllables. The Haiku addresses nature.
The heart can be a mailbox
for unsigned love letters.
Best to forget the specific sender.
focus on the beautiful
hand-written script.
God has endless addresses,
yet only one mailbox.
Love can arrive from the unseen,
also from those
you have never met.
The envelopes may even be sealed,
and opened by your own hands.
Like the letters who always get their addresses,
one day your love will find my way.
If not too soon dear,
let it come at a delay.
I could linger forever, here.
May you too also feel that way.
We are adequate for each other,
let's cultivate an amorous memory
in a perfect display.
Let our union be as spontaneous
as the Sun rises in the east every day.
The poet sits
At the lower table
While his wife
Addresses the group.
Suddenly, she directs
Her remarks to him,
Spitting out words like
Bullets, wounding his
Spirit and his pride.
He quickly rises
To leave the room,
Dropping his poetry
Notes to the floor,
Upon reaching the
Foyer, realizes his
Marriage is over--
Just like that.
written August 27, 2021
The symposia on health
Will be on the weekend
Join us and bring a friend
Your body is your wealth
Addresses healthy food
Boiled water as example
Less fat, carbs than the apple
And no need to be chewed
With free t-shirt and ham
And some other offers
Please spread it to the others
Rest assured it's not a sham
SYMPOSIA Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Julia Ward
September 01, 2018
old friends with spouses
and new lives
long lost communications
people moved away
gathered in one room
brought together by one thing
"high school reunion"
we talk about old times
nothing seems to have changed that much
just our age and looks
our memories stayed the same
we exchange numbers and addresses
promises of keeping in touch
losing track ago
for another five years
an empty box brandishing a red flag
where hope for packages and letters
from unknown addresses try to find
their way home. greeting cards with
colored envelopes marked by rough
edged stamps. bills seemingly blank
on the outside become very contrary
once they are opened. pre-approvals
for credit cards decorated with holo
grams of promise to receive all that
is desired. the box is a lying device.
Belief simply addresses mind,
which we may follow, if inclined
but it offers us not the taste
of rapture that does not abate,
borne by beats of bliss magnetism,
illuminating body prism.
If we wish to realise God,
we start by giving love our nod,
shifting focus from head to heart,
gentling touch, which is a learnt art,
breath by breath thus divine entwined
and then in time, the truth’s divined.
And the pity’s infected their whispers.
And the advice arrives in the mail.
No return addresses;
No self-revelations.
There are so many smiles,
I could wallpaper the sky.
I could trade introspection for consolation.
The carolers stopped singing
outside my door
in favor of mingling with a couple
who’ve inferred my reality.
I’ve passed by and only nodded
to their whispers drowned out
by keys in the locks.
I had to change
email addresses.
I couldn't keep up
with the alt accounts—
ten helpings
of the same subject.
you know they're automatic?
after you sign up
you have to go to settings,
unenroll—
seems like too much.
I'd miss
dopamine's dinner bell—
notifications.
Only to remember:
I was the commenter.
It's a rush
worth the risk—
a chance,
to re-visit myself,
dressed
in your jumper.
a grab-and-run pack
a small survival sack
with one set of clothes for spouse and self
passports, a file with just few mails
an old diary with addresses to contact
in England, Finland, and Switzerland
and some currency notes
couple of thousands
in rupees that does not stretch
like the American dollars
they were what i needed most
as the pogrom was in progress
in my Tamil homeland
while i always went to bed
with shoes on my feet
someone somewhere awakens
shares insights of wisdom realised
he addresses the mind of our soul
ego prefers data weighed and sized
canvas contorted, truth is distorted
what was alluded to remains unknown
lost in serpentine labyrinths of symbols
seeds of a nebulous religion are sown
if we’d know what does not come and go
in as the absolute truth transcendental
we need to tip toe into pure heart unshod
our eye nonjudgmental and touch gentle
Affairs are in order,
They’re all written down,
My bank account, check book,
Addresses in town.
Utility contacts,
And who to advise,
When quite soon it comes, now,
My final demise.
My last will and testament,
I’m in sound mind,
And there’s no secret papers,
For you left to find.
I hope in my sleep,
Is the way I depart,
My legs have stopped working,
Quite soon now my heart.
I’m not being morbid,
I just want to try,
To make it straightforward,
As I wave goodbye.