Short Antiseptic Poems
Short Antiseptic Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Antiseptic by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Antiseptic by length and keyword.
To treat an ulcer that was peptic
My Doc gave me an antiseptic
Then he made it quite clear
That it goes up my rear
I think you could say I'm a skeptic
Cut the cancer,
Lance the boil,
Oil the rash,
Gash the unnatural growths
Inside your soul.
And splash on sentiment, afterward:
Cheap antiseptic, but it won’t sting.
I am wearing a calico face mask,
it has pretty red and blue flowers,
reminding me of spring showers.
It softens my face with color,
doing away from the antiseptic look,
adds a bit of whimsy to all the gobbledygook.
Intellectual hygiene…
the Poet declines
That dull antiseptic,
that deadens your mind
Once washed and then scrubbed,
the truth a charade
Academic consensus
—the Muse in her grave
(Villanova Pennsylvania: December, 2019)
Her book was disturbing,
in an antiseptic kind of way
Cleansing words of their reluctance,
periods gone—commas laid
“Tribute To Joan Didion’s
‘Slouching Toward Bethlehem’”
(Villanova Pennsylvania: August, 2017)
The silence
And the antiseptic air .
The sound of pain
In that dreaded chair .
Your jaw now dead
With a tongue to choke .
"RIGHT ! , you're next Seán " .
The voice that broke
The silence .
Inspired for Brian's rondel contest .
Form:
under foot a pebble, no
opposite toe scrapes it off
crimson sole and toe
shard of glass missed the dust bin
and both feet caught the action
spouse to the rescue
bandaids and antiseptic
blood dripping on floor
socking up; putting on shoes
standing for the next three hours
I will tell you my lies
Bow only to her
I can between the blurs and frazzles in my sight
hide
I hate September does that make me antiseptic
Move the button
that ends it all
For that might be my call
Failure gave up on me
Restricted my support
Change the meant to be
or was that mental bee
Door knobs are special for me
And I like to clean them all especially
Washing and wiping with antiseptic so well
No germs to spread I can tell
One day the corona virus will be gone
And we’ll remember it in story and song
But will I be able to break the habit
Of cleaning door knobs regularly because of it.
© Paul Warren Poetry
hospital's antiseptic ambiance,
temple of impeccable hygiene,
the oracle, the doctor, still not in;
the wallclock looks bored, tired of ticking,
drags time at an arthritic pace,
anemic hands round its palsied face;
white coterie thrums down the hallway,
doc's rounds complete, all waiting in place
for his diagnostic curse or grace.
hospital, with its antiseptic ambiance,
our top temple of impeccable hygiene,
its priest-oracle, the doctor,
not yet in.
weary wallclock looks bored, tired of ticking,
pulls and drags time at an arthritic pace
with anemic hands around its
palsied face.
at last, white coterie thrums down the hallway,
doc's rounds complete, everyone must wait in place
for his crucial diagnostic curse
or praise!
A poet was making such clatter.
His friend ran to see what's the matter.
“I must clean all,” said he
“or my poems can't be
in Antiseptic Pentameter.”
His friend laughed at all of the chatter.
The other didn't grasp the matter.
“Eat Italian,” said he
“so your poems will be
in Antipasto Pentameter.”
“My problem with gluten's the matter
and why I must make so much clatter.
I'm allergic you see.
I'd get shakes and would be
writing in Spastic Pentameter!”