Short Cabinets Poems
Short Cabinets Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Cabinets by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Cabinets by length and keyword.
and
so-called
friends who
fill their medicine
cabinets with marbles
before inviting people round
for dinner: Not funny. Not funny.
Politicians
Haiku: by Tom
December 10 2020
Some cabinets are
filled with finest dinnerware,
Some contain jokers.
cloves in oranges
cinnamon and rain
steam condenses
on cabinets and windows
and as tears
on bric-a-brac angels
purely decorative
their existence in
my mother’s kitchen
I never understood
Remember filing cabinets from way back when
Gals would bend down revealing their gems
Now Google's taken over
So calm own there Rover
It's the 21st century, ogling's been condemned
My Grandpa was a craftsman.
He would measure all the wood,
with poor eyesight, best he could.
He would make the cabinets and drawers,
even when his old hands had sores!
My Grandpa was a craftsman.
Copyright McCuen 2009
What if I were to lie?
What, if I were lye?
Don't you look at me that way.
Don't you look away!
The blond hairs on your back
I know it's cold.
Where are you going with this?
Wherever you are told.
Dance now, it's a stage.
The machine rotors turn.
The cabinets stocked with capitalism.
My Beautiful Idiosyncrasies.
KITCHEN RAP--
more than jelly
you are on my bread
turn on the music, then we jam
I run to the table
to got the butter
but you enable, cheese
you smiling at the clutter
kitchen cabinets closed
all the can goods in a roll
something's calling me
must be the canned okra?
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr.©2019
LOOK THERE. NOTHING HERE.
CABINETS BARE.
BEARLY ATE.
STARE THROUGH SPACE.
CAN'T KEEP PACE.
NEIGHBOR FRIED CHICKEN.
FINGER LICKIN'
DIRTY FINGERS.
NEED SOAP
CAN'T COPE
NEED SLEEP. NO SHEETS.
CAN'T KEEP. COUNTING SHEEP.
ONE TWO THREE
MUST GET THERAPY.
AND FIND RESOURCES
BEFORE FROST HITS.
MUST PERSIST
I EXIST.
Every morning I look on yonder
Staring meekly across the way as I ponder
The lawn is green, and the house is nice
Cabinets stuffed with vegetable, meat and spice
The longer I linger the more envy I gain
My thoughts start to swirl around in my brain
I feel a weight in my chest that I have to unload
So I head on over to The other side of the road
a pink tupperware container in the cupboard,
filled with salt kept in its acrid epitaph.
now its been years since the cabinets mouthed around
the windows.
the need for dry sinues grows.
blood purified rushes to the heart drawn by the
meter and decimal.
a moment and a memory unravels in the skin.
we learn to get by on a little less.
Form:
Twiddle, twiddle,
Work and whittle.
You say with wood
You have to fiddle.
Building cabinets
And turning bowls
The saw roars
And the lathe rolls.
A simple piece
Of wood we see.
You have the sight
Of what can be.
A piece of nothing
So lovingly held.
But with your tools
You soon meld.
And from your heart
Wonders appear.
Works of art
That we hold dear.
Things, things, things
And more things, things
Made of glossy metals,
Faux wood, faux stone, faux plastics
And other faux
Some with real labels
Designed by faux gods
Purchased here, there and everywhere
On sale
Stack them in your closets, your cabinets
And your attic
In their original boxes
With their original tags
Never to be taken out
Except faux the estate sale
HOPE MANIFESTED
Bottles, hidden in cabinets
Hangover, can you imagine?
Bending knees, praying hands.
A glance of hope
Another chance
Selfishness tried to drown me.
Truth manifested
Now love surrounds me
A lost soul; found.
One day at a time
Without getting high
Is a priceless gift.
Transformed, sober minded
A soul lost, rebirthed in light
Future filled with possibilities.
they are cleaning up washing
the windows of their
souls unclean
corridors of their
lonely desolate hearts
vacuumed
i need to sleep again
in the womb for
the new birth
resurrection
emotions are diligently
arranged in the
file cabinets
of the forming
brain
love kindness and patience
there
wrath hatred and judgement
here
may be destroy them
neatly arranged orgasms
going back to church
Form:
yellow leaves hang like old flyers
for bands that broke up decades ago
orange veins split
along the cold ground’s scars,
last color before the gray takes hold
a cool breeze
threads the season’s last breath
through busted porch screens
now the country coughs again
through exhaust and empty cabinets,
through plastic flags
flapping over pawnshops
still—those yellow leaves,
they don’t quit easy
~Brent R. Grimes
You could fix up my shattered windows
Patch up the holes in the walls
Find a way to make the incessant creaking
Of the floorboards–hush
Make the faucets stop their aching
Drip…drip…drip…
New shingles
New doors
New cupboards and cabinets
Make my old bones feel new again–
What I really want
Is to be set ablaze
Ashes to ashes
All my flaws and failures
Gone with the strike of a match
Then and only then–
Pick up your hammer
Last night, I dreamt I was a parrot.
I spent my days in a cage and my nights in a rage
And all I could ever say was what I’d been told.
Every few weeks, when there was company,
and the doors and windows were surely locked
The man would let me out
And I’d fly into the kitchen cabinets and those hard-to-reach places,
and sing the words he’d never been proud of
Until I was in his grasp
and in my cage again.
What a nightmare.
Listen to poem:
A semi-dark room;
shadows in the distant space,
apparatuses were spread around,
lights flickering,
cabinets against the walls,
an awkward quietude amongst a droning sound.
A group of people gathers around,
for in their midst,
there laid a deceased man.
An uncanny stillness permeates the room.
The center of attention is ...,
... a masked man holding a blade,
it drips of fresh blood.
Who is this masked man?
A killer or a surgeon?
2020 January 15
December's harshness in the air
can never quite compare to the ice
inside your eyes-your stoic lack
of apathy.
So now your gone,
and what have you left me?
warm wine three quarters
left untouched;
a faded photo down the hall;
drab dishes stacked in
stained grey cabinets.
The oaken table left
unfinished beside a
bare and sterile wall.
Do not return again, my love;
. To many chilly days have been
absorbed into -to many frigid nights.
I may be 5 foot 9 but by the time
I have to reach over my middle tire
A skinny person of let’s say 5 feet
might reach things a couple inches higher
Those tricky top shelves are strictly for things
I know that I’m never going to need
Like huckleberry jam, rice vinegar,
brown paper lunch bags and caraway seed
When searching through the kitchen cabinets
I find that I’m too short by just a smidge
So I have no idea what’s hiding in
that little cabinet over the fridge
I turned towards home and danced a little jig;
Receding in my view: a store of late
I’ve frequented with items small and big
to patient sit upon a shelf and wait.
I did the closing check, that one last sweep;
The walls, the closets, cabinets, all quite bare.
No history, no quilts, no cluttered shelves:
Empty rooms.
No quilts, no genealogy, no sewing, no cooking:
She’s not here.
It’s all at our house.
—————
(on emptying my mother’s apartment after she passed away)
Some teachers once used stickers
To reward a super grade.
Originally, star-shaped ones
Were all the ones they made.
My grandson's potty-training, too,
Involved those stick-on stars,
Which also were exchangeable
For varied Hot Wheels cars.
His younger sister somehow
Got her hands on quite a few.
Despite her age, she right away
Knew just what she should do.
So now I'm finding, on her chair,
The cabinets, the floor,
A galaxy of shining stars
To jazz up the decor.
Water running in the sink.
Made me sit and think!
Kitchen with wooden, shiny floors.
Cabinets and a wooden
pantry door.
Two bathrooms.
Two bedrooms.
Spacious laundry room.
Wonderful stove and refrigerator..
Huge Laundry Room with
washer and dryer.
Dining room
Living Room
Huge Master Bedroom.
Wood deck on one side of house.
Cottage windows that look out on
serene, country scene.
Irene.my cat, licking her bowl
of fresh, cold cream!
4/18/2021
Thierry Henry, he came back
got us a goal, quick as a flash
to help us win the match
I can gladly divulge, back of the net did bulge.
Thierry Henry Godlike preacher
Theo Walcotts brand new teacher
the tricks he's got, his delicate shot.
Play it, don't waste it
place it, don't lace it
grace it, embrace it.
Breathe the gunners, inhale them deep
Come may, could be top of the heap?
The cabinets full once more,
Thierry's boots are back in the door
Come on Arsenal we loudly roar!!
©John-Ovan.P.Hull
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