Short Cobras Poems
Short Cobras Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Cobras by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Cobras by length and keyword.
The words said to me
Well they're not very kind
They keep me up late at night
And tear me up inside
They suffocate me
And slither through my mind
Then like a cobra closing in
They strike
To see your face
I crossed seven seas
and
Killed
dodging donkeys
I slit open several cobras
In the forest of fright
Sagged at the last step
For the miles
I trekked defile Kilometres.
Across great plains, in rich soil valleys,
beneath beautiful pastel painted skies,
sunflowers dance like amber cobras.
On graceful stems they sway to refrains
of morning's song, a rhapsody on the wind.
12/4/2022
Bitesize Poem No56 Poetry
A Line Gauthier sponsored contest
There is more to the tongue
Than just taste
The tongue can make
The tongue can break
The tongue can kill
The tongue can heal
some things are better not spoken
Better kept to the heart
A sounding silence that burn inside, better than war
A tongue is fire
Another is fire
Not only cobras spit venom
Humans too
Tame the tongue.
Form:
the first glimmers of morning
are reflected on the lake in Jaipur
temple dancers-devadasi
in a tangle of hands and long-haired shadows
welcome the new day like cobras...
while women on the shore (blow after blow)
are pounding their laundry –
they want to punish life…
LIFE which is neither bad nor good
just flows like water…
It's said there's some irreplacable
and it's said they're iridescent
but from realities wakeup call
and the knives that peel at your delicacy-
gently puncturing the senses,
triggering the knots that erupt deep inside
when they are no longer butterflies-
but cobras,
infecting, misleading and wrong-
surfacing the venom of worry
*not finished*
Across great plains, in rich soil valleys
beneath breathtaking, bold painted skies
amber cobras dance on graceful stems
swaying to refrains of flowing rhapsodies
Mariah plays for them on a whimsical flute
whistling notes float along on wind songs
hypnotized by her gentle rhythmic breezes
they bend and dip in choreographed allegro
Catching snakes has to be done
When they are in the city each one
There is a couple of tattooed people
On television in South Africa showing their mettle
Black mambas, Cobras, Spitting Cobras each done
Would have the potential to kill when their biting is done
Not my cup of tea to do this sort of thing
With nerves of steel that they do bring.
© Paul Warren Poetry
On the twelfth day of Christmas,
my enemy gave to me
Twelve upset tummies gurgling
Eleven spoiled milk cartons curdling
Ten missed opportunities to achieve
Nine judges who refused my reprieve
Eight frustrations and barriers
Seven Covid-19 carriers
Six casseroles with a bad smell
Five empty packs of Pall Mall
Four creepy sashes
Three worn out lashes
Two cobras who attacked me,
And a grizzly bear in a honey tree.
African watering hole is a spiritually sacred spot
there is an understood truce when the animals appear
ancestral ancient spirits keep watch and peace
over cranes, zebras, tigers, gulls and giraffes
tigers, tigers, cobras and mosquitoes are welcome
none would dare tear apart an animal here or give them malaria
father lion is watching as is mother ape and brother python
African watering hole is a spiritually sacred spot
Flaunting a brand
Succinctly,
holding the horizon between his teeth
he was not taking a bite.
Nobody can open the vault
under the gaze
of black cobras
extending the crumple zone.
Sweet revenge,
he was stepping out of the bright skin
in deep shadows.
A grey sky was going to melt.
Pouring out the innocence
which was not so subtle between the words.
Something falls out from your lips
beyond a reasonable sound.
Satish Verma
Twelve headed cobra comes from the sea
It is the true master of its destiny
He bears the gift of immortality
Master of time in all its majesty
The counter necrotic force from vortex spews
The soul its nirvana in it will choose
The eye deep like abyss its surroundings views
With surreal flavor the air cobra’s presence imbues
The poison fangs ready to defend
By the divine cobra is send
Yet with the surroundings it can blend
With cobras presence Gods’ heart is contend
The bikers headed into Kalamazoo on a mean pink bike.
The guy yelled to a passerby-er, “why don’t you take a hike?”
His old lady yelled for him to run over the old guy’s foot.
We had never seen such meanness from a biker’s soot.
Are they cats or what? Someone asked, and I said, “For sure.”
They were as mean as cobras crawling out of cow’s manure.
They have a certain cattitude we had never seen in Kalamazoo.
I was glad when they left, as I am sure you were too!
Indonesia Pearl, queen of the Pink Rose Frogs
Intimidated all the rest of us including barnyard hogs.
She had a trusty spear and a poison blow gun too.
She would annihilate armies of others, before she was through.
She was a stealthy fighter, and marvelous at camouflage.
She would be upon you before you could flinch, scream or dodge.
She hung out in the Amazon, scaring cobras and alligators too.
She had a ruthless streak, there was nothing she would never do.
Indonesia Pearl, queen of the Pink Rose Frogs
Intimidated all the rest of us including barnyard hogs.
She had a trusty spear and a poison blow gun too.
She would annihilate armies of others, before she was through.
She was a stealthy fighter, and marvelous at camouflage.
She would be upon you before you could flinch, scream or dodge.
She hung out in the Amazon, scaring cobras and alligators too.
She had a ruthless streak, there was nothing she would never do.