Short Argues Poems
Short Argues Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Argues by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Argues by length and keyword.
Hawaii fireworks
still deadly and maim for life
like annual debates
Hawaiian language council
argues o'er Kona coffee
There once was a Greek so to Speak
A weird kind of dominate freak!
He yaps and complains
Then argues in vain
Til Boring's his middle name!
autumn art argues
amazing amber alerts
amid ambiance
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Delighted to magnify his wolf spider sixty-two-fold
Magic for this warlock truly never gets old
He can take him to banks and demand solid gold
No one argues with him, the tale is told
Living in the Cenozoic era
Broken down for Holocene
Quaternary argues me
Hadean Eon answered
Love is science, religion smiled
Started launching Holy Book
Planetesimal rules, interval.
Hades, Hebrew for hell
shh says the soul
I must not be seen
The feathered wings of hope spread prone
seek its final rest
Inside the unseen argues with the unnoticed
Sound and words defty fill the ether
and secrets kept between myself
rip outwards for acceptance
I don't know why I keep going back,
Not to the one I despise
but the one who is suppose to help.
She argues with me,
and doesn't get it
But the one I despise
Somehow I go back to her because,
She understands me,
even though I sometimes despise her
She is a good friend.
Form:
Someone stole our best hound, he told me.
He is eight, and angry about it in a curious way.
Maybe he ran away, I suggested. Maybe no one stole him.
They did too! He argues.
How do you know?
He came home dragging the dog house they chained him to.
He might be on to something after all.
Who could say of yesterday? The
Ancestors Graves spaces and spaces for the recently welcomed?
I have felt them. Far into ancient
Lands and yesteryears! Whilst we
Alive we were willing we were WISE! Aaaaaah EXHALE! I JUST LOVE these DAYS! here in the expanse of existence? Resplendent! Who argues with JOY?!
Carbon started the show
for life on earth to grow
and form fossils below.
Modern man in the know
made fossil liquor flow.
Then mass combustion grow.
Carbon to see-o-two.
Waste gas discharge to blue.
Each day more of it spew.
The air choked with foul brew.
Man argues what to do
now judgement day is due.
Is a moment
when nothing inside argues
with the way it is, it's as is.
It opens softly—
a breath easing from a grip,
a hushed gush the mouth trusts.
Pale misty early morning light,
water smoothing over stones,
space wide enough to let in and receive.
It arrives unannounced,
while walking besides trees or shorelines—
and stays, if we stop chasing it.
that might be her I think as the car door opens
her left foot comes out
that’s her shoe, I surmise
uh-oh
a little old man gets out
maybe not
I pick up my pen and begin to write
that’s nothing, muse A says, we can forget about this.
Everything is something, argues muse B
Muses C and D are giggling, but silent
I do not wait for their input
continuing to write
death's stood in the doorway
but i'm no good with words
so my pleas for mercy
come in the form of
fresh bandages on old wounds
and plastering my vices on greeting cards
though the reaper argues
that if there was any value
in a butterfly whose wings
are pinned to a corkboard
or a soul with one foot in the grave
and the other being fed to wolves
he'd carry his mercy in spades
Elvis has left the building.
The paparazzi run toward the alley.
There is no limo, only an old beat up van.
There is no peeking inside.
The windows are black.
Wait! Says one.
Elvis has been gone for over forty years.
He has been sighted numerous times, another argues.
He disappeared to have a life, throws in a third.
Elvis crouches down under the bottom bunk.
Holding his breath until they are gone.
I think I can get into these jeans, Deloris said.
She wiggles and giggles and lies back on the bed.
The jeans are stretched as far as jeans ever go.
I wonder if they’ll split, they are crying out “whoa!”
I know I can do this, she argues, moving her fat.
I wore them a month ago, she says to her cat.
The cat rolls his eyes and goes off to catch mice.
Deloris fails to get into these jeans more than thrice.
Spring blasts in on a winter swan’s golden wing
Bringing all the new grass a season can bring
Winter feels shoved out, and runs quickly away
Spring has come in too heartily, what can I say?
But maybe she does not know better, Autumn argues.
She is the peacekeeper with leaves of a variety of hues.
Spring overheard and decided to come in in a gentler way.
She was seen riding in on a slow bike just yesterday.
an old ripped tarp argues with the wind
the NO TRESPASSING sign trembles
an underdressed scare crow ‘crazy dances”
mocking a city dweller manically hailing a cab
the warmth of the red barn lies to the field mice
offers only the emptiness of progress
sad hollow hope of grain-less silos
silent feathers watch as hunger preys
upon the return of every sunrise
an old ripped tarp argues with the wind
©1/20/2019
The animals took turns being leader of the band.
Today it was squirrel's turn, he marched onto our land.
The fox was pouting, for he said he never got a turn.
This made the moose mad, he did a slow burn.
They each need to be the leader, the tiny mouse said.
The bear stuck out his tongue, the fox turned all red.
I should be the permanent leader, hoot owl argues.
The moose got annoyed, and began clinking his shoes.
Envious of the faith you hold
because i have never felt its touch
Bored of the boredom
Being in reality
living in the unreality
The new born utterances explaining and naming the nothing
The voice that remained silent
through the young spilt blood
the adolescent fumbles
the undefined shadow
the decent of the descendants
No empathy from the eye witness
No sympathy in pain
Still the unheard voice
argues in my name
One that dazzles minds
questions everything, anything
argues without ceasing
looks at world upside-down
builds mountains from moles
makes ordinary extra-ordinary
eyes as sharp as sword
master of doubts
creates something from nothing
challenges common wisdom
has no feeling for feelings
has burning tongue, cold heart
50 years old but 100 years in thought
discovers new things without voyages
stands on dead men’s shoulders
I need a new oven I say
Mine takes a week to get to four hundred
You only bake pizza and cookies, argues my only husband
Never will I bake again, until I get a new oven I retort
This one is fine, he argues
If we had to sell this house, we would have to buy a new one
This would pass inspection, he says
That night he had to wait fifteen minutes
For the slowest oven in the Midwest to go from 360 to 425
I think you are right, he agreed
But she’s my friend your 8-year-old argues.
I want her back!
Children always chase the one who got away.
Reasoning does not work.
Arguing works less.
There is something diabolically appealing
About the friend who got away, the one who
Is snotty and mean to them.
These are the “friends” they want back,
And immediately.
These are the ones whose accolades they
Chase after.
It makes absolutely no sense,
Yet I see it every day.
The matter between my eyes and my soul is for the materiali$tic
The depths of my soul only reachable by the idealistic
My journey thus far can only be described as realistic
Sometimes I wish my life was more simplistic
I have an aura that makes me spiritualistic
But the L in my name argues I'm more Logicalistic
I'm certainly not evangelistic
In truth I'm just moralistic
When it comes to being verbalistic
I like to think I'm intellectualistic
I know a man, a breaking man
Who can't be broken.
He's been tested far beyond
And come through fire.
Sometimes I catch the sorrow in his eye
As he torments himself with right from wrong.
He argues, analyzes...sits in the other chair.
He puzzles over every deed,
Imagines her not being there...
Then can't accept such thoughts of peace,
Her fate, even if it's of her own choosing.
A broken man who can't be broken,
Sits weeping...not losing.
Form:
Sir Reginald Fly-eating Frog is dapper and tall
Women swarm around him when he goes to the mall.
Some scream their appreciation as if Elvis is near.
He is my cousin, and I try to tell them he’s not really that dear.
He is dapper and distinguished though one argues toward me.
I look at him and roll my eyes, I know him better than thee.
I think it’s his jumping legs that puts their pantaloons in a spin.
He is diabolical too, truly not a catch, in no way a win.