Short Cups Poems
Short Cups Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Cups by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Cups by length and keyword.
morning in the cups
hands dropping the sugar cubes
poems of the lips
____________________________________
April 10, 2018
at peace but alone
a feeling wholeness lingers
pondering the space
where once there was tea for two
now there is but one cold cup
Ego cups have now been filled
To the point of overflowing
Confidence and power now heightened
Fuel to keep ego’s growing!
What's up with this cup?
Who took a sip?
Throw away this drink
I don't want your spit
This stain in my cup
What's the meaning of it?
She gave me three cups of love,
I drank the first and felt good.
Second made me foolishly drank,
the third made me addicted,
now, I can’t live without her!
Filling my cup over with all of the overflowing love
For my past and my present lovers sent from up above.
Indeed it was through them I have found true peace in mutual suave.
We drink five billion cups of coffee a year
An insane amount, it's becoming tragically clear
The forest clearing
Is affecting our sphere
Clear cutting to grow beans in South America
Crazy white rabbit trumpeter had a magic horn
You could hear its cloudy sound past the Iowa corn
I think he is in cups again my great-great-grandma said.
She always knew when he was stoned out of his head.
TWO CUPS
coffee mug in hand
i feel the warmth of the gift
— time’s cold without you
time’s cold without you —
i feel the warmth of the gift
...coffee mug in hand
5/17/2018
A
bell is
a cup upside
down, shaped to resonate
a chime and ring, when hammer strikes
the bell with and makes it ring its key note
with big bells making deep low gongs,
small bells
ping
Cups and saucers are couples,
Around,
Always together,
Hugging each other,
In a painful pleasure touch,
If one dies other lives a short,hidden,
Some active,
Some inactive,
Some sometimes alone,
The couple a model to make!
coconuts' concuss
light-craze boggles ~ sight failing
tourists blearing up
dented sand cups nut
hammer screwdriver to milk
machete dispatch
caribe-dude's swingin's no match
now - To The Gators!
.
Four cups of wine
Fruit of the vine
Sounds like a mighty fine time
Truth be told, it's drunk late at night
with kids up and cranky
It's not my idea of a delight
Many heads will be spinning
for hours on end
And then the very next night ~
It's the same thing again
If passion could be a voice.
What tune will be performed?
If joy was a tangle.
Is it going to fall apart?
If love was a meal.
What will it taste like?
If you spread it to others.
Will it be a pointless exercise?
Perhaps affection is best seen.
Across cups of loneliness?
In cup
Is what you drink
From cup
In seed
What you harvest
From seed
In silent
Of your thoughts
Your words
Are Born indeed
And words yours
Bear your deed
And fate
Is what in your heart
Your Mug indeed
Born in deep
As nation who lead
Drops
Of what in her cups
of deep
Watch in cups
What contained
In cups
Contained us
With cap
Form:
One cup of coffee.
Do I want breakfast?
Not yet. Second cup of coffee maybe.
I am still not pleasant.
I can feel my growly face.
I had better have a third cup.
If someone speaks to me
I might go off the deep end.
I am not ready to be sociable or nice yet.
My husband tiptoes in,
sees my face,
and turns back around.
He knows I am still in the “gnawing your legs off”
frame of mind this morning.
He and the dog both read me well.
They like to be held
when the weather gets cold,
they could be worn down to nothing
don't mind growing too old.
They enjoy having a cold drink
even a warm one would do,
enjoy being kissed softly
when they're feeling blue.
They won't cry a single tear
so long as you're there with them,
all they really want
is to be your friend.
Copyright Cynthia Jones
Mar.29/2016
I know this sounds corny, but I'm trying to find something to write about.
She always had one
In her hand.
“Peanut butter cups,”
She’d say,
“They help me forget.”
She spent her saved change
On peanut butter cups
At the 7-11 down the road
Every day.
She would come to class
Holding a peanut butter cup
And would sit in the second row—
Second chair—
Eating it silently.
When she was done
She would fold the wrapper
Into a little heart
And slip it into her lunchbox.
I wondered
How many hearts she had made.
I do not, amongst the dregs of my cups,
Consider you worthy to be the theme
For my untutored scribblings.
There, Madame, there: I put you
In your place, amongst the detritus
Of my life, the forgotten effigies of life,
As she should be lived.
Yet, you do not acquiesce to my intentions,
And re-emerge into my consciousness
To disturb and argue for attention and
Writings.
I am weak, and accede to your importuning
With versification to placate your demands,
To show my love.
Scripted television nanny
All the Lions roared their approval
dancing puppets
Stars shown twinkling delight
mask global death
My favorite football team
diverts my attention
Smiling ringmasters bow to each other
chosen talent cheered like god
(even call themselves jesus)
While blinded by the sun (tv)
the world devil cult
plays us like a game of cups
Cows, smiling, entertained to satisfaction
shuffling towards
hamburger
rapture
Towards
Hamburger
Rapture
08/28/13
© All Rights Reserved
nor peace that dwell below us
even in the depths of hell
let Satan hoisted
His bright sails of light and darkness
to all the ships that sail
voices sing out towards the dark wine sea
bring forth the ubiquitous blue light
from the melodic swing of the pendulum
while navigating through dark spaces
we need ice water to quench our thirst
without forgiveness to come this far
life in the inferno that burn like the sun
nor peace that dwell below us
shall ask to fill our cups with good