Short Collectors Poems
Short Collectors Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Collectors by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Collectors by length and keyword.
If you think that noone cares.
Bill collectors call, then I swear.
Try missing a few payments.
The "Do not call list" the lying claimants!
I, unwist!
Artist Mary Cassat so ' Henry James'
helped collectors with their acquisitic games
With meaningful moments of the 'well-to-do'
in attractive pics cropped&true
Fall is a time capsule.
Precious moments turn into memories we treasure.
We become collectors of flashbacks.
Wordku: 5-7-5 words
AP: 2nd place 2026
In life I slept
worried,
installment due ...
mortgages...
In death, sepulchral sleep ...
no requirements
sans scares,
without collectors `
at the door...!
No one is perfect.
We go Up & we come Down.
If we send a little something Down though, (while we're up) and place it somewhere safe, we can use these tools to get back up again next time.
We are Tool Collectors.
A one-time freelance stamp collector,
Tiny flaw, red-inked inferred branch,
One cent stamp, collectors gem,
Misprint worth six thousand,
Dealers called it rare,
Cash in my hand,
Lucky strike,
Good find,
Mine.
oh generation of garbage collectors
toss it out ...buy more
he shoots ... he scores
paper plates ... plastic faced
paper hearts ... what a waste
disposable lives ... biodegradable promises
When Love is spent
Like credit on a card
It becomes a plastic debt
In which drowned of debt collectors
As it became so easy to swipe
Until the day it was declined
Taking credit without payment
Lost in interest
^^^^^Love On Credit^^^^^
Military gear ~
Table to table veterans
Search out memories.
For James H. Beachboard
1928-2011
USMC 1947-1951
One of the Chosin Few
Battle of the Chosin Reservoir, North Korea, 1950
britannica.com/event/Battle-of-the-Chosin-Reservoir
through years
we amass
collections
they’re only things
dust collectors
we call them clutter
although
each one's unique
holds a story
and a little piece
of our heart
Published in my 24-page photo/anthology ~GATEKEEPER~ 2020
AP: 3rd place 2020
Collectors, traveling from far,
Dig in ashes piled behind
The weather-whitened, ghost-town bar:
Whiskey bottles there to find.
A hundred years have come to pass:
Cowboys—gamblers—girls—all dead.
Half-buried legacies of glass
Gleam beneath the rotting shed.
They trade you one for two,
Within the same price range,
Their formula won’t change,
And later when you’re through
You’ll swap them for some new.
But when my life is done,
Will books I’ve written be
Recycled, mindlessly,
Will there be even one
Collectors hunt, for fun?
They trade you one for two,
Within the same price range,
Their formula won’t change,
And later when you’re through
You’ll swap them for some new.
But when my life is done,
Will books I’ve written be
Recycled, mindlessly,
Will there be even one
Collectors hunt, for fun?
We are all collectors of love that for eternity will feed the soul
When ONE love has passed from earth it's just a memory that brings days of hurt
When WE have passed on from earth in heaven our souls marrow into one
Our essence no longer shy.
T Reams copyright 2015
If butterflies are free
We must abolish acrylic
Boxes
Paper weights and
Tiny bottles with
Tasteless flowers...
Butterfly nets
Picture flames and
Collectors who boast to know
Them all by name.
We must abolish fancy coasters and
Little boys
Who pinch their wings...
Dead butterflies are such
Unseemly things.
the bill collectors are on the phone
I know it is them
It says scam likely
I refuse to answer it
what would I do?
tell them the truth?
No one wants to hear it
some people say send a dollar a month
I would be paying debt back until I am 145 years old
I stare at the phone
feeling stressed out
as it continues to ring
"The Collectors"
a kiss
spreads its alms
warmth on cold lips
Love comes to collect
the eyes tell a story
the messengers
opened
an untold mystery
passing
the plate
the collection
the black swan awaits
veiled proverbs watching
3 fates
(LadyLabyrinth / 2023)
vcb-ljb
mlb, klb, llb
I gave it all up
every time
as long
as it was next week...
So surreal
the more I did
the more I laughed
out of context...
Escaping reality
so harder
to cope
when it was re-imagined..
Then I imagined
all the bill collectors
as little
voodoo dolls..
They all
had needles
in their mouths
But, I don't care,
I'm holding
the dagger..HaHaHaha!
~ ~ ~
10/3/2023
Those who communicate,not because you are new!
But ………………because they honestly care about you.
They are not those selfish,rabid, comment collectors!
But………………warm-hearted, loving, soul-protectors.
You know, they are part of your supportive team!
And…..………………celebrate all of your poetic dreams.
The morning rays pour brightly
Over the shells in the gleaming sand
The breeze picks up,tosses them about
Into the crystal waters and across the dunes
Salty foam washes onto the beach from far at sea
A collectors' delight,those gems wedged inside the grains
Of snow white reefs and flawless waves slapping the shoreline
Amber and ivory glinting in the sun awash in those depths of azure
Form:
If I can laugh
I've found the path
I wish to tread
As in my head
This smile has lead
To happy line's
Upon my face
That can be traced
To all my mate's
That have raised my spirits
When all around
Im bound to find
Tax collectors
And fun inspectors
Wanting to ruin my pleasant day
As they themselves do not know
That what they stop
Will set them free
From being what
They hate to be
We are all collectors;
storing images and sounds
as museums their acquisitions,
and conductors, their array
of scintillating voices….
Some we obtain for profit
and some to simply enjoy--
a lovely face with charming
grace--a lyrical smile
with eyes that beguile--
the roaring wind
stripping trees and
flattening fields—amazing
how many worlds a heart can
hold--or vanquish in an instant
of rage.
collectors
dropping footprints
in idle sand, eyes wide
fingers hanging empty
delicate shells, bits of
sea-glass, heart-shaped
rocks, the foundation of
'I love you.'
an intake of breath, crouching
toes buried digging through
dirt and then
scrubbing the prize
clean, nestling it with a smile
inside her pocket
or illusion,
her eyes dull, her hands
slack her conscience
waiting.
Death,
Final escape,
Rest in Peace,
From tax collectors.
Three more steps,
Golden Gate,
"Halt!"
Reaching hands,
I cannot believe this one,
Wait,
Cannot play stupid on my part.
Biting my tongue,
Into the bleeding,
"Lord! Love my country, but..."
They never take a slumber wink.
"Go forth, love ones remain behind, they can pick up the tab."
Mixed weeping,
Joyful Homebound,
Praying for family members as I enter Pasadise.
Form:
Born pro active
He saw the people's way
He was an Advocate
Made collectors pay
Blind and alone
None saw His way
Instead they thought Him "strange"
Jesus concerned
Covered His eyes
Man's sight restored
Miracle surprise
A woman at the well
Judged and abused
The Lord could tell
Spoke her the Good News
Now joy and peace, she has to give
Filled with new hope, reason to live
Jesus our Lord, our Sovereign King
Saw the people's way
New life He brings