Short Cuts Poems
Short Cuts Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Cuts by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Cuts by length and keyword.
try to make your mark
than you must start
get on the run
you sungun
you can bet
to be sucess
there good and bad stuff
NO SHORT CUTS
Another line
Red
Angry
Deep
Again and again
More red lines
White slowly stained red
Drip
Drip
Drip
The color almost black as night
A final breath
Good night
there are no short cuts in life
so take one day at a time
stop to gaze at
the beauty around you
from the droplets
on a vine
to the laughter of
the person next to you
Cut my eyes
Cut me vain
Cut my cancer
Cuts the same
Cut me in half
Cut my fear
Cut my hopes
Cut the tears
Cut my wounds
Cut my mind
No more cuts
No more time
Form:
Blue ribbon cuts through land
Trees mirrored in its depths
Silver white branches.
(January 10, 2011 Wausau, Wisconsin)
(c) Copyright 2011 by Christine A Kysely, All Rights Reserved
Today is the first day of the rest of your life
Good or bad, happiness and strife, your choice
Hopefully, it's positive
It's your prerogative
Avoid the stresses that cut like a knife
Started cutting names
from my various friend lists,
cause they never write.
[Bet there are many who feel this way, at times. I trimmed my FB, Goodreads, and other lists yesterday, and it made me sad, hence the poem---jt]
Nostalgia, it's a fruit
that doesn't rot...
Always present,
always bitter...
it's not thorn
not even rose,
but in the soul,
always causes
gashes... !
Sad music
Cure your happy thoughts.
Make you blind
To the love.
Use your knife
Cut a little deeper.
They don't understand
It's not for attention.
Use your sad music
To cure your smile.
They will watch
You bleed for awhile.
Addicted to the cuts
With the bathroom door shut
Crying on the floor
As the blood began to pour
Her life is rough
She has it tough
Never feels enough
She loves to cut
But she hates it at the same time
She feels her life isn't worth a dime
If any politician
thinks that the
cuts in Europe
aren't hurting,
they themselves
aren't working.
Falling in the dark
became invisible
if only
let's go for a ride
skin
holding on to the air
and
nothing in between
you are used to run away
yet
by ease
it drags you in
he wanted to touch my face
but first he asked if it is ok
I guess
She stopped cutting her wrist
She started cutting her thighs
The lies
"No, I don't cut anymore"
Tell that to the blood on the floor
Sometimes, she hopes
the cut will go to deep
One time is all it takes
But until then
She just fakes
"I'm okay"
She tries to say.
The old ham smells wrong tonight.
I check the expiration date, masquerading
as an anniversary, but it doesn’t matter.
I fold new slices into my mouth,
the meat is rubbery in my teeth
against my tongue.
It tastes like something borrowed—
a blue memory I want to give back
but can't return.
Words you say can cut like a knife
Stabbing the very center of my heart
Bleeding to the sounds of your voice
Gasping for breath by your tones
I’m here dying, killed by your words
The sounds and tones crushing my life
I’m hurting by just a simple hello
It’s torture to me and my damaged heart
Russell Sivey
but i wouldn’t fault you words spilling from a loose connection
your heart
a myriad of internal cuts and bruises
exposed wires tattered and frayed
i can hold such damage
with barely a touch
soothe the gnawing of varmints uninvited
be that handy little light
one carries to duel the dark
Thu Mar 5 2020
No cut can be made from a rusty blade.
No blade can sever a noble endeavor.
No great divide from a loss of pride,
Your character shines forever and ever.
No peace of mind with an axe to grind.
No one to blame for personal shame.
No place to turn for a failure to learn,
History echoes and calls out your name.
I have in haste
Enraged the paper’s edge
Soft slit of idle pain
Awaits
A dash of sweaty salt
Red dots upon the page
Unmuttered curses
Venom spit
Through gritted teeth
No bandage
Will adhere to finger tip
Lest it hit keys
Before their due
Doth did I try
A bit of Crazy Glue
Thus, am I stuck
In keyboard “L”
Cuts
It smells fresh and bloody like a new refreshment
It tastes like a new beginning that ends short
It sounds like screams for help and cries that no one hears till the end
It feels like fire to the skin,like a punishment for doing nothing but you
It looks like the start of something to end
Cuts are symphony of what life can do to you
Form:
Physicians
magicians
who work wonders with a pill.
They diagnose,
prescribe the dose,
and then you get the bill.
Attorneys
journey
to the law books for a clue.
to file a brief
or sue for grief,
but it's legalese to you.
Mechanics
don't panic
when the car chugs in the bay.
They take their time
to wipe the grime.
" It won't be done today."
Why is it when a car chases me down and cuts me off
It is never a new car, or anyone with insurance.
It is always an indigent who has dents on at least three sides.
I do everything I can to avoid adding to their car’s dents,
Figuring this is some kind of a scam and I do not want to “play”.
I am worried that as I get older, my reaction time will be slower.
Words rest on my tongue,
sharp and heavy,
like shattered glass,
aching to spill.
But as they press against my lips,
ready to slice their way out,
a voice pulls me back:
They are not worthy of your fire.
And I pause.
I ask myself—
what’s stronger?
The urge to make them bleed,
or the strength to walk away
and let their silence swallow them whole?
SHORT CUTS
(*with apologies to Albert Einstein}
The tonsorial master said trim it
the dunce in the chair shouted skin it
the difference in coif
like the difference in thought
is that genius acknowledges limit*
John G. Lawless
4/14/2015
*”The difference between stupidity and genius is that genius has its limits.”
Albert Einstein
She cuts me,
And I continue to bleed,
No concern at all,
For my needs.
She can’t see,
The tears in my eyes,
No love at all,
Her knife sharpened with lies.
She stares at me,
With no emotion on her face,
No warmth at all,
A viper wrapped up in lace.
She hurts me,
You think me quite insane,
Why not just walk away from it all?
This love is worth the pain.
Like a set of bends in the road he was a twisted soul,
With no direction but pure of intention,
He wasn't we'll lit with sand and grit,
But catching him slip was always a risk,
He wished it was easy and that he owned a life,
Maybe a different route with a place in sight,
Anyway he suffers in pain with his bottle of drink,
Playing his guitar drunk allows him not to think.