Short Doormat Poems
Short Doormat Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Doormat by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Doormat by length and keyword.
Doormat Sally
Doormat Sally cried the moment she
discovered that she was allergic
to shoe wipe and cat pee.
Stop judging harshly
Wipe the "doormat" off my head
Learn to love myself.
(To achieve these goals is a process, but I am determined to get there.)
Being a good friend doesn't mean being a doormat, a true friend is the total opposite.
9-12-17
Alexis Y.
Laugh At Dumb Doormat
Looks like people like to laugh at,
Trump who is plump and also fat;
Often sneered;
Always weird;
Did become dumber than doormat.
Jim Horn
Drop your key
when you leave
and step on me
so I don't grieve.
I just tried
to keep dirt
off of your hide,
but you don't hurt
as I do
on the ground:
one of the few
who won't form sound.
The welcome on my doormat has faded
And it is your shoes that have worn it
I think my door is locked forever
But I hold out for someone to break through my window
Using the front door is so overrated
Form:
Must Mention Each Ration of Compassion
About Trump are things we must mention;
Definitely has been big bone of contention,
And nibbled at,
A dumb doormat,
While many problems exist with retention.
Jim Horn
she always wants to mollify, placate and please.
I roll my eyes, wondering if she is but a tease.
No one loves being more than a doormat than me and my twin.
It is a game we learned early, taught to us by overbearing kin.
Rat-a-tat-tat Rat-a-tat-tat
Kittycat Kittycat
Scat by the doormat
Where are you at
Are you some funny acrobat
Eager for playful combat
Flat on your back throwing a savate
And why do you like to hide in my hat
AP: Honorable Mention 2021
Trust me
I'll hurt you
I'll break you
I'll make you look like a fool
I'll crush you
I'll burn you
I'll make you my stepping stool
I'll lie to you
I'll tell you the truth
You'll be my doormat
I'll make you crumble
I'll make a mess of you
You can trust me on that
October doormat I have been unenduring
Hear my heartbeat
Raindrops falling
Jack frost appearing
Old man laying out his laundry
Sometimes I feel so low
Where are my ideals?
Purring love down purring throats
without loves strength
without loves foible loaves
There was muck at your
doormat.Would you call
the Nemesis to clear the mess ?
*
You have given me
the last pair of shoes.
I will walk in them
to the house of death.
*
This day, I had kissed you
O moon, under the reeds.
Till now the music
is alive.
Satish Verma
No, my mother Atheist said,
Long live cricket, God is dead,
Debbie Downer's Nihilist thoughts,
Total negativity she taught,
This is Debbie Downer' doormat daughter,
Saturday sportsmen off to the slaughter,
Yes, God is dead,
Long live extreme sports,
That's what negative Norma said.
Wash the dishes?
One wishes that
fishes had hands
Brush the doormat?
If the cat could
do that, would it?
I doubt the dog
cleans the bog, 'coz
the clog's still there
Takes a woman
and dust pan, spick
and span again.
Jodie Williams for
Dr. Ram's Than-Bauk contest
7 Aug 2011
Heaven’s doormat scribes our birthnames,
woven from fine wicker,
oblivious to sins or fame;
holy entrance richer.
Designed to cleanse our feet,
past relatives we meet;
entering, angels greet.
Jesus will chat.
Heaven’s doormat.
Thursday, October 21, 2021
(Quietus)
I’d love to sit on a big leather chair,
And smoke a fat Cuban cigar.
And own a Monet,
And a little chalet,
And drive a red hot Jaguar.
But, alas, here I sit on an old wooden bench,
Sucking a ciggy filled with tar.
And my art's on a doormat,
In a cheap council flat,
And I drive an old rusted car.
Saddened n' tired,
Feeling like a doormat,
For people to just wipe their feet upon,
After being trampled on n' used...
Worth more...
Valued less...
Pain just fills me,
Once again, I guess...
Taken for granted...
Not seen for what I'm worth,
Just too blind to see...
How much it truly hurts....
"The door kisses the window poor doormat cringes"
The poet stops his pen and his toad wife binges
On ants flies and ice-cream
Poet begins to dream
But on her next scheme his whole poetry hinges
Hurt Heart which Was Torn Apart
when I hurt my heart
no longer love from the start
will brake and tear apart
current heart has to do
go ahead and drink a few
trouble about to brew
adjust my thermostat
what we knew right off the bat
will buy cat named Pat
when dumber than doormat
had my hat hangingg from thermostat
while being a big brat
The room is hot
But the floor is cold
The still thick air
Makes me wheeze like I'm old
My feet are frozen to the floor
It's a cool relief
From the air of mold
The stretching odor
So potent and strong
Makes me wretch and fall
This energy of mine is almost gone
Alone and cold now on the floor
I'm here like a doormat
Won't someone open the door?
Form:
Worst self-critic can be,
Navel-gazing, so like me,
Let bygones be gone,
Thoughts yammer on,
Guess it's not so bad,
Doormat is my fad,
People pleaser I can be,
No drama queen, you see,
On foibles, turn the page,
Think cosmic at this stage,
Being kind is the best,
Soldier on, then sit and rest,
Poet, handmaid and woman,
Being only one merely human.
So, I'm starting over again,
Why is this thought in my brain,
That patterns repeat for everyone,
For me, good men appear to be none,
Control freaks take a sweet witch,
And turn her into a right *****,
You can't please bullies, let's say,
I suppose I'll learn that one day,
This pattern long held in my brain,
Being a doormat is a drain!
So, I'm starting over again.
Romancing Neptune
had an
amorous wish.
The body is water.
Take it,
split it,
and then become a doormat.
Blocking the fiesta,
a ghost brings in
storm, in a glass.
Will you drink the moon
in night ?
The street now walks in,
taking a call to kill the shades,
of wrinkles. You forgot
your name and move
gingerly from post to post
lightening the lamps.
Satish Verma
Forgotten trails which I follow
Only a feeling of lost sorrows
Other path has been long closed
The bloody gate leads to the road
Promises broken just as the chain
Reminding me all which made me insane
Instead of premiting a different path
Not for my good but for your own past
The way you filled your words with greed
Showing your enjoyment of watching others bleeed
I know this sounds like a soliloquy,
But why did bulldust men find me?
God made Ratlotto sardonically,
Life's booby prizes always find me,
Now 70 years old is the new young,
O God of funster fun,
Is it them or me?
Yes indeed, my soliloquy,
Is it them or doormat me?
Whinging is fun for us,
No one's listening to this fuss,
Dear God of Ratlotto's booby prizes,
Any more masculine surprises?