Short Gnashed Poems
Short Gnashed Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Gnashed by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Gnashed by length and keyword.
gnashed teeth
and battery flavored asbestos
& so open minded
that its fallen out
a Chernobyl sneeze
deteriorating
the gestalt
monsters groan hair in wrinkled gnaws…
hell chews hope in gnashed cash…
greased volcanoes sire rising screams…
burn of cyanide and bunkers reich…
flags star stud the roar of flames…
Holding on tightly
Eager to be in the the throes of something
Glad to be gnashed by the tiger
Thrilled to retain my anger
For it is my most
Pronounced
Enthusiastic
Normal
Feeling
Let’s decorate the T-Rex said a little boy in a scream.
Tree-Rex nearly came right off the bed in his dream.
Was the child saying that he did not already look great?
He gnashed his teeth, thinking of that child’s new fate.
I eased in bed,
she began to fed,
I felt warm melons,
she started growing talons,
as I soothed on cherries,
she made me wary,
it was her teeth,
that had gnashed,
and sunk in a hungry crash,
I diengaged and made a dash.
We mourn the death of those
who through a season shared,
wept the morning dews,
their white veined fingers
wave at the rain, snickering,
cling through the breaths
of gnashed clouds.
Then, each singular body falls
and becomes one pile of many,
like griefs we labor to endure
become memories of many lost
yet never truly...gone.
Being pre-menopausal
last night
when I woke up
at three-twenty-four
and picked his book
off the floor
moaned and groaned
and gnashed my teeth
and bit my lip
and said, good grief
are we suppose
to read this junk
Have you ever
heard the word
brief or fun
or light or airy
And laid the book
back on the floor
and shut the light
and said, no more
I'd rather be asleep
Form:
Eyes glued to the sky
Thumb finger tumbling
Tears cascading from above
Heart filled with grieve and grieve
Encroached of the unknown
Future punctured with uncertainties
Realities gnashed at me
The night settled on my thought
The morning is aging
It is time to go home
Which home?
Where is the fulfillment in these drifts of life?
Must i go home unfulfilled?
O, is this the end of my enterprise in the human cosmos?
Form:
Cold odd keys to lost cities glisten
as spikes of torment test the frigid
cold fish hands feeding ropes
into the winds biting kiss,
teeth gnashed against themselves.
Hanging on for life
Men in shirts of frozen plaid
disrobing for a touch of longing,
belonging to a certain tribe.
Whether they acknowledge it or not
they are each a star within the field.
A leaf, a blade, a patch of shade
within the black.
Each one forever fighting
to remain,
or to get back.