Short Gobs Poems
Short Gobs Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Gobs by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Gobs by length and keyword.
GREEN
Gobs of grass and trees
Reaching to the sky
Everything is full of life
Everywhere is new growth
Now I can breathe
Trump won, Harris lost
Gobs of money, the election cost
Polls wrong again, predictions tossed
Revelers and grievers, both get sauced
one day the jungles last best hope
was swinging from trees on a rope
when jane plotted a joke
hauling water which to soak
and lather vines with gobs of soap.
I salute you – unappreciated lower extremity
Made to carry gobs of weight – forced into small high places
I free you – to long walks on cool sandy beaches
Michelle Prital
Feet
Gobs of Jobs
Seems to be gobs and gobs of jobs;
Then why are there so many sobs?
Jobs once had been nice and near,
And now no longer are they here;
Are overseas after someone robs.
Jim Horn
Must remember the world has different time zones
We're people of the world, wherever we roam
Our image appears
Grinning ear to ear
But losing gobs of hair since falling on my dome
Some freezing rain is predicted today
Gonna stay put, the prognosticators I'll obey
Consider my life precious
Love eating lettuce
With gobs of sweet dressing, delicious that way
Huh???
Some freezing rain is predicted today
Gonna stay put, the prognosticators I'll obey
Consider my life precious
Love eating lettuce
With gobs of coleslaw dressing, delicious that way
Huh???
TV people take up oodles of my time.
They turn me into a police officer,
A detective,
And a forensic genius.
I solve murders, and mysteries
And save gobs of people every night,
Luckily I can do it from my recliner
With my dog snoring away next to me
Appetite appeasing her
emotions emanating in a tear
as food follows forcing fingers
to regurgitate great gobs of fear,
freeing for a moment more,
liberating lies lying so deep within here
now, plunged passed pipes
drowned deep in
the flushed future of guarded grazing.
Hair! Hair! Here, there and everywhere!
Its on my lap, on the bed and my favorite chair!
I've even found it on the comb when I arrange my hair!
But, my inscrutable cat, ol' Jeff, doesn't seem to care!
Even though the house with gobs of hair is riven,
When he purrs and cuddles with me all is forgiven!
Hair! Hair! Here, there and everywhere,
But Jeff is my loyal buddy and I don't care!
Gaining weight has always been easy for me.
I’m having a Zoom lesson today at a quarter ‘til three.
First you’ll have to go on a grocery shopping spree.
Buy gobs of salty sweet things, all the junk food you see.
Here’s a test if in this class you want to join and be.
Can you see your tummy? Still see one knee?
Here is what I’ll accept as part of my teaching fee.
A bucket of sugar nuts from a Macadamia nut tree.
Little tiny Jellyfish,
you look like gobs of snot.
Then I went and stepped on you
and found out your not.
Little tiny Jellyfish,
your kiss really hurts a lot.
Next time that I walk the beach,
on snot I will step not.
Nothing else I tried worked except for something silly.
For "Jellyfish at the Beach" contest
Hosted by Susan Mills
Placement: 7th place
For the contest: Any Funny Poem
Placement: 12th
The ground gaped garishly, gored with ghastly gouges of glowing, gravelly gobs ...
Finally unfettered from a frigid firmament, flames flung fiery, flaring fingers
ferociously forward ...
The blazing bastions bent on burning the backwood bluffs bare with bitter brutality ...
Unholy hoards of heated horror hailing the heavens with heinous, heckling howls of
hellish hostility.
I reached level forty-one no probs,
And won the game, but had sobs,
So that that just failing was fobs,
If I determined not to join the slobs.
So the next time I reached it, had bobs,
Because it felt wrong to veer from your hobs,
But I failed the level at the last post, robs,
Since I couldn’t merge victory with my everyday disability, lobs,
So the third game after that first success, probs,
I let myself win again so my brother had gobs.
No more burgers and fries..
I will not waver.
No bread with gobs of butter..
I will not w...a
ver.
Pie, a thing of the past..
I will not wa..
v.. r.
e.........
Mashed potatoes and gravy..gone.
I will not W
A
V
E
R.
Make that a double vanilla on a sugar cone…sigh.
I have drawn simply gobs and gobs of fantastic tree women.
Some make me laugh hard, being upside down, with feet in the air.
Some have women faces, others have crazy female trunks.
They are drawn with my artist’s heart, painted with precision care.
It is amazing how creative I can be with my paints.
And glitter, and brushes of particular animal hair.
No one is safe from my imaginative fun and games.
Visit me, and your fantastic face may end up on a chair.
In the shadows there's whispering, someone is listening
To every word, that you say about them now.
Secrets you shared when really, no one else cared,
Things you said, when you thought you, were alone.
Are now nightmares playing out loud in your head.
Your pretty little clothes & gobs of, face paint, which you’ve hidden behind.
Weren’t enough to pacify. Why! Couldn’t you just be, nice?
Now on those delightful words in which, you spoke,
Ironic but, now you choke.