Short Couches Poems
Short Couches Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Couches by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Couches by length and keyword.
the man with a crown on his head
has likely to spend time in bed
the Queen, misbehaving
the cause of much raving
preferring most couches instead.
My dogs like to find hidey holes
Putting their backs against couches
Curling themselves into dark corners
Sleeping where they can, when they can
Wiser than most humans
Things parade around
on my counters....
thoughts
good ones
bad ones
ugly ones
I spy dragons under my couches
others may not see them
but they are there for my taking
Can I help it
that I have thoughts of a poet?
Sump pump is broken
Constant water run
Plumbers cost money
Homeowner is sad
Waits a bit too long
The basement floods
Ruins couches
Bedding thrown out
Salvage nothing
Expensive
Life lesson
Plumber comes
Nasty
Stump pump
Flood
New Orleans’ 1962 ostentatious hotel lobby
extravagant crystal fluted chandeliers
highly polished walnut counter tops
opulent Italian marble floors
plush scarlet velvet cushioned couches
swankly brass and glass décor
luxury never seen after nineteen sixty-two
Sitting on the couches ;
in the dark shadows.
Listening to the nights electrifying
arc, light up the heavens.
Winds,rustling song;
blows through the leaves.
Frogs quiet anticipation;
the impending precpitation.
The inevitable dance
of nature ,that follows.
All the castles
off beach
all the chairs
plotted down
Chairs that sit
alone
seems nobody is ever in,
except the maid who
cleans.
Cleans for the couches and mirrors
to look and be satisfied
I see no noses
smelling the breeze
feel like an animal
in a robot jungle
Gracing the page
Has not been my practice of late
For my time has been better spent
With bodies
In uncomfortable beds
With double mattresses
And dirty leather couches
With the sounds of war in front of us
But the noise of laughter between us
We’re back
And now, I’ve returned, too
Form:
Homeless
Like the hawk spiraling
On a downdraft;
A suicidal freefall
Crashing through rented rooms
friend’s couches, to the dirty floor
And finally here, in the street
Wearing someone else’s clothes
Standing on a corner at night
In a city I do not know
I listened so coy
A smile combed ever so softly
Across my face
Could you tell
I wanted to tap out the beats
Too shy to try and steal your thunder
Out done, out classed, speechless
As the words stole my heart away
In this room
Sat proudly on cushions
Upon couches
Where muscians were born
Form:
I felt good joining my fellow arts-mates
The strangers that i will always bond with
The neighbors in the other page
The so similar verses we shared
Writing from our basements
From the comfort of our beds and couches
From our libraries
From our sleep....
We meet in a world that others will never reach
What happens to old couches
We're not allowed to sit on
After the plastic is removed
And the flowered pillows are gone
The carpet was well used
From sitting on the floor
As a kid I would wonder
What are couches for
The living room now empty
I look inside and stare
How did it get it's name
If no one lives in there
It's not about the now dull walls
Or the shiny tiles
Or the tinted glass on the windows
Or the sad-looking stairs
Or the new teak coffee table
Or the painted countertops
Or the new tawny couches
Or the jagged mosaic rag
None of that could make me leave
It just doesn't feel like home anymore
Charlene has to have everything new
New light fixtures, new carpeting, new furniture
She tosses out six-month-old couches as if they are lice-ridden
I see her dragging things to the dump she had to have two weeks ago
Charlene is never satisfied; she tosses husbands out too.
Or they leave, screaming. We will never know which.
Glimpses of Heaven on Earth
As Pema the old pug,
Deaf and blind,
But still overflowing with love
Nuzzles up against my side
While Lily the young and wild one
Runs in zoomies around us
Up and down
Couches and coffee tables.
Who would imagine finding Heaven
Here and now
As simply and clearly
As a dog’s joy.
(7/22/26)
Try to bully or inspire with fear
Has the opposite effect
Strong arm the truth
You will get what you fail to prove
Evolution in groups-
Decadence under tiny roofs
Flags pledge allegiance
To themselves
The real, phantasm, and never was
through a bold television empire
Heres hoping they (we) come from couches
To rebuild the throne
(each stanza is a Senryu poem)
We, the resistance,
are here, stationed on our couches
armed with our remotes.
Camouflaged in our
faded PowerPuff pajamas
and fuzzy slippers
We are determined.
Yes, we have evaded contact
and forsaken love.
We few, lay down such
as freedom for honest care
for our fellow man.
I am a professional knitter, she said at her front door.
As if we could not guess it, we could barely see her floor.
Yarm was everywhere, in magnificent colors galore.
Variegated, twisted, baby soft, a knitted band aide on her sore.
Afghans piled high on couches were sleeping with a snore.
We knew she could make herself happy from here to forevermore.
My children will take a match and throw it into this mess and laugh.
As everything goes up into a giant bonfire.
The couches, the rugs, the pillows, my paintings.
I can visualize it, and I do not blame them.
I would do this too if I had to face cleaning out this mess.
I feel grateful that I will be long gone when it happens.
At least five days gone, I wager.
While the band plays on
dancers grow drowsy
stifling a yawn
Half-empty bottles here and there
couches overlaid with outerwear
while the band plays on
Drunken arms over backs of chairs lay
chests rise and fall slowly, feet splayed
while the band plays on
The dance floor now empty
last notes float out the door
the world sober once more
Potatoes
drink beer after beer
slouch on couches
formulating bad breath opinions
second guessing
deriding
insinuating
opinionating
whining
baby crying
except for Trump
and variable other
con artists
most
bankrupt
or poor
yet
they know what's best
do this
and don't do that
you are a fool
can you not spell they say
dyslexic millionaires
don't really care
sending poetry into space
Laden in morning rises,
finding me in your irises
my creativity waits gently on the other side of this door
that creaks soft with hums that
hem your hair behind your perfect ears.
We're all children on couches
falling in our fresh and sudden thoughts
with bottomless candor,
pressing lips against young and flaming worries.
The door is swung open now
and unknown flowers are singing en masse.
Cutesy Petootsie Halloween girl with a baby crow
lived down in the bowels of Texas, near Mexico
They had a good life, baby crow and She
Lived in an Airstream with two couches and a TV
A generous grandmother had left her an endowment
She was asked how she got her money where ever she went
It was such a rude question, she did not answer it at all.
Stared them down until they felt silly and small.
The couch is off-limits.
(Today it's a bridge.)
My feeling aren't hurt.
(Okay, maybe a smidge.)
For when Henry is building,
The world must concede
To the object and spaces
His projects might need.
He's lucky his house has
Some couches to spare
And if they're all bridges,
There's always a chair.
At least he's absorbed in
His "building" at home,
Which leaves me some moments
To whip up a poem.
We get approximately three boxes a day in deliveries
My husband is the ultimate order-machine
He takes more stuff back than most people order
I am sure UPS knows his name now
These boxes stack up on couches, the back of a bookshelf,
Beds, chairs, tables, and other not-for-boxes-places
When I get tired of them, I burn them in a huge bonfire
I love this part of the boxes the best, thus I encourage these orders.