Short Canker Poems
Short Canker Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Canker by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Canker by length and keyword.
It hurts if canker cuts a rose
Or the moon behind cloud's kerchief goes'
We are that sensitive.
Therefore o God why give
Any pretty girl a runny nose?
It hurts if canker cuts a rose
Or the moon behind cloud's kerchief goes'
We are that sensitive.
Therefore o God why give
Any pretty girl a runny nose?
Rickshaw |abia
punish my honey
drink my creamy dream
eat my children between fat-bread
Stulted pedantic canker-bloom
Your bird-plucked eyes
will gas-up and advertise
A beast,wicked and
callous without
culture,
He injured me
several times but
never again,
Accident I had
months ago was~him;I
am sure,
lustful and
diabolical with a
Canker worm in his
brain.
this dark spirit goes upon decitfull 'mistle-toes' to tell deep lies
In kind disguise, with gutteral tones, this overblown' and
Foetid canker, consort of bankers, necropheniaic black
God forsaking.' death will take him, into hell for such awaits him'
That ulcer
in his
consciousness
bleeding
to be heard
A canker
of a
muted past
abscessing
every word
Cold sores
of detention
that fade
but never
cure
A virus
of his
hopes and dreams
recurring
— untoward
(Septa R5 Train: May, 2024)
Once upon a time walnuts were my fave
So tasty and terrific
But canker sores galore
Hey hazelnuts might taste lovely I thought
So I put them in coffee
And promptly stopped breathing
Thank God peanut butter does not hurt me
If I had to give it up
I would jump off a bridge
For each morning that spawns
I evade your virulent dialect
Each syllable born of your orifice
Is embellished by grisly tones
As helpless I am forsaken
To canker in ire
To awake is to honor the culture of the universe
Though your miserly revelry ceases to deliver amity
Whilst your exploits wither into oblivion
Ask your doctor about 603712 Sporatic Moratic the TV ad man says.
It might be the only way to reduce your pneumonia.
Possible side effects include
Itching
Hives
Canker sores
Cancer
Swollen limbs
Blood clots
Shortened breath
Shingles
Warts
Shortened life
I immediately call my doctor, demanding he prescribe this to me.
Die my little cherry
You unearthly rotten berry
I won't sit on your cloud
Because of you, I am not proud
You're just a wicked canker soar
Of you there are plenty more
Die my little cherry
You unearthly rotten berry
Your tastes have gone sour
You were never a pretty flower
I watch you wilt and weaken
Your branches look ill and beaten
Looks like you're out of season...
Shall you crawl back here
Pressed into the crevice of your choice
And no repentance bare
For the canker from your dark device
You will not gnaw nor litter
This domain that trust misplaced in you
Somthing dark and sinister
Compelled your judgment to err, brew
Its black bitter bile in you
And made you on our innocense chew
It does not matter, the end
Gives cockroaches nothing more to offend.
These changes in a day are
rippling through me
Down right crippling
you'll see
Some days I feel like
a toilet of crap
A revolting smell
that snaps at my back
Other days I speak
sideways in tongues
The language of cohesion
levitating unhung
And other days I see
the spreading of canker
A slow bubbling
of pernicious anger
Popping pustules
of infectious rancor
(Work in progress)
Wandering down, the field flattens
Towards the darkened river.
The chestnut moves like a sail
Stands aloof in it setting.
Yellow canker caress the meadow,
Bees lunge into waiting flowers.
Smells of distant cows.
The dogs running around,
Guns on shoulders sounding
Across banks of soft fruit.
Dreams drifting like clouds,
Bounding countries that don’t exist
Lost in this mist, heading home
Peacefully until the stillness ceases
01.12.18
An alter ego of ours
A humble church mate
Waked up an kneel down for hours
To everybody, its a checkmate
He was diagnosed a disease canker
Oh no to live impossible
Everybody concluded it's cancer
To his prayers life was possible
He felt the pain of the wound
To be healed,only prayers in supplication
He knelt down in the wind
The Almighty hears his prayer application
Its not a checkmate, everybody elate
Oh yes,it's not a mate lets celebrate
The acne vulgaris
Was rampant in Paris
From forehead to shin
It erupted all over the skin.
The blooming bachelor,
Living on wine and gin,
Frequented the whore,
And forgot his sin.
Three weeks later,
Developed an atypical ‘canker’
His family doctor
Diagnosed this as a genital chancre.
The Paris-acne is not ‘young man’s pinple’
Its cause is subtle and not so simple!
It’s a blunder of raging hormone,
The signature of a sin, long forgotten!!
Form:
WAS IT A DREAM
A day so bright and golden
A country whose sun is proven
Where other races come to refuge
And not be dumped as the refuse
I saw a day where we’ll have leaders
Not tugged oriented as rulers
A day I saw the canker-worm is no more
Where there was no gulf war
Where the nation of saint are adore
When we fought as it was in troy
Alone we are the glory without convoy
On Euphrates flows the twelfth aisle
I was pure and graced in the seventh tide
BUT ALL WAS A DREAM