Short Disembodied Poems
Short Disembodied Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Disembodied by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Disembodied by length and keyword.
Disembodied hands
Creeping up the alley way
Deadly spiders too
Poison snakes and scorpions
Crawling 'round on Halloween
I phoned the incontinence help line today
“I’m Mrs. Brown, can you help me pray”
But I was extremely disappointed to be told
By the disembodied voice that I should hold
Form:
Dreams are disembodied entities in need of being incarnated into concrete reality!
© Demetrios Trifiatis
16 December 2018
* May your dreams come true!
disembodied from the crowd
they locked me from their thoughts
imprisoned in my psychic wall
i lost my mind within it all
and when left, my soul, it rots
never again will they be found
i am alone, and help cannot be found
Form:
Ghosts
Vengeful
Frightening
Disembodied
Souls
31.10.20
Submitted 14.10.21
Ghost Lace Poetry Contest
Sponser Chantelle Anne Cooke
Confucius say, so does Tao,
So does Jesus, there is no woe,
Don't send dick picks on our phones,
Gal bloomers don't get thrown,
Disembodied , magnets not,
Do grow up, you little grots,
Stay in touch, Confucius say,
F... off our phones today,
So does your ex-wife, so yah!
The stanza was written in trailed off silver, circle over circle was wound to form silvery words, embossed around them though the palace sheltered paintings of razor-thin wings bespeckled with blood imprisoned sonnets that zip and fly with the hub, palatial and so endearing, the disembodied whispers are like paint peeling.
You stood with crossed arms
Pathways
up automatically
like greenhouse gas
rising
up and up
and disembodied voices
marking your progress.
Flashing signs mark the time
that no-one else seems to feel
Subterranean thoughts
Sepulchral dreams spilled out
long masses of people march expectant
to the mouth of the mall
and herds feed at colourful stalls
(“Bardo Dreams”, 2017, original mixed media encaustic)
Maybe so in Hollywood, yet
We all dream, not just fags,
And in our dreams we are all equal
Equal in being dreamers
Disembodied spirits on the way
No matter our sex, no matter our race
No matter our age or even species.
Disembodied spirits on the way
Dreaming like lovers do
Lovers of Life.
(9/20/25)
my disembodied i floats above
ego… id… superego
constructs psychological
cum gravitas, or so they are told
straining, clawing
the drumbeat frantic
as mine is subdued,
tenterhooks unglued...
the universal chord
syncing
my pulse purring
____________________
September 23, 2024
Cessation Poetry Contest
Unseeking Seeker
Don't mistreat
the Red...
it is vital,
it's blood,
it's heart ...
Don't mistreat
love ...
it comes from the heart...
If you don't have
heart you are
discouraged ...
Almost disembodied,
then... !
THE
END
Amidst the pulsating tumult of the End
She sits …... calm ..… gentle ….. still
Like the silent heart of the violent
Storm that rages around her;
A disembodied rose petal,
Settled on the thorns.
My heart is pierced
by a javelin of
tranquillity.
The End
.
Don't mistreat
the Red...
it is vital,
it's blood,
it's heart ...
Don't mistreat
love ...
it comes from the heart...
If you don't have
heart you are
discouraged ...
Almost disembodied,
So...
beware of... !
Hybrid disassociation enveloping the realm of the brutal.
Severed limbs rain from the sky, heads rolling the streets- A hell rejoiced by satins’
glorious army.
Disembodied virtues, convoluted vision in a rhetorical era.
Buried remnants of a societal refrain post due lay staunch in ruins of a untold text.
Blood rages through the river as bludgeoned faces paint the streets of flesh and
blood.
Involute power reigns absolute, so begins the desolate landscape
THEN the skies bellowed a frothy glitter and d o w n became up &
sideways turned horizontally truthful
said the vegan Aardvark.
THE Policeman chewed his m0uth-
side and a Red Ant crawled out from his nostril damn-us (Quatrain 173) &
my pillow has luscious lips from some disembodied woman who once cared
for me. The rest of this delirious
prose is buried in an unmarked book
within a discount store on the far
side of the Moon.
::02.??.2020::
Skype tells me it’s your birthday, Polly Ross,
a disembodied message from the ether
that nipped me like a redback. “Southern Cross” –
remember that? So, hurl it in my teeth, or
delete me, tweet me, blank me, come across –
do what you will, I’m living with the loss.
You probably no longer give a toss.
If only I’d a cooler glamour-gloss,
could be more Aussie actor (Meller? Heather?)
you’d see the gold, and set aside the dross.
I miss you, need you. There. But you’re the boss …