Short Apothecary Poems
Short Apothecary Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Apothecary by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Apothecary by length and keyword.
John Keats qualified as a surgeon apothecary
before concocting his poetry
He also wrote ballads & odes
but sonnets were his favourite mode
I speak of cash crops, refined
apothecary powders (staples really) bought to
sate, to feed the scarred artery and the
diseased mind, the lover and the slave.
I speak of madness.
Form:
Jean Neuhaus had an apothecary store in Brussels.
He started covering medicines with chocolate, to make it more palatable.
His grandson replaced the medicine with praline.
“a spoonful of sugar”
Let's go to the apothecary shop
-- Ah, it's closed over the noon hour
We'll stop by the milliner then
-- I see. It's closed then too...
I guess we'll just be forced to play
'Peek-a-Boo' at the Local Loo
I need serotonin so serenade me
Let me slip away into a soft dream sleeping soundly , crossing the threshold of your apothecary
You're my medicine
Be my Sunday afternoon in the sun warmed spot on the bed
My safest space
It hurts when I breathe
The pain within my chest
Burns with every breath
Are my lungs but even left?
Is the art of the apothecary
Any solution of mine pest
Tis a cause of melancholy
My own life is my distress.
Oh, draft of heaven
Fill my gasping lest
I expire within thy being
Never knowing my purpose.
It hurts when I breathe
The pain within my chest
Burns with every breath
Are my lungs but even left?
Is the art of the apothecary
Any solution of mine pest
Tis a cause of melancholy
My own life is my distress.
Oh, draft of heaven singing
Fill my gasping lest
I expire within thy being
Never knowing my purpose best
Copyright © ANDREA TRAVIS
In 1745, the apothecary
Time stands still, peering at the past
The chemists lived making potions
Between dust and rats
Gadgets like compasses hung
Amidst glass vials and bronze knobs
Keys to hidden compartments
Silver ladles and candelabras
Joseph Black isolates CO2
An odd phenomena of “fixed air.”
The healers of the early ages
The fearful labelled witches
And, often then burned
She was glass,
apothecary blue,
potions cool within,
a cure of sorts.
Some who sipped
survived
and some did not.
Some whose
burning lips
relinquished,
quenched
their thirst
forever,
never to desire
her fire
again.
and then,
there was
i
was there
parched beyond
regret.
afraid and yet
obsession
drove me
on to
shatter all
for that last
drop,
the drop that
fell,
that fell so fast...
and she was
glass.
Let your words come like leeches
sucking bad blood from the body
of my work. Swell with pride
excising disturbing humors.
Ill, I have come, and arm-bare,
begging to be saved.
Open a vein, young apothecary.
There is plenty of humor to spare.
I do not mind the mending knife,
the fire of its kiss only brightens my chances of living.
I do not mind the gluttony of innocent words
as they draw away the poison.
Fever throbs in my ears.
Cure me.
Form:
Apothecary of fate
Mix me well
Mix me a wishing well
Make me one so strong
A wonderful blend
Fill it with all kinds of bends
Got so much to say
I will buy in
Keep you around
Just keep going on
Make the road long
Just set the hook and pull puck
I will come back
Again and again
Set the hook reel me in
Just make me with a kiss
Troubles with bliss
Oh apothecary can you do this
I will give you all I got to give
Leave a trail to prove I lived
Apothecary just do it