Short Honked Poems
Short Honked Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Honked by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Honked by length and keyword.
no true destiny
just anywhere else
penned the sign
backpack will travel
cars honked
many smiles
some waved
I felt like I was drowning
perhaps in a sea of indecision?
The other day I saw a platypus
Licking the feathers of a real-live goose
Goose honked something fierce
Platypus’ heart pierced
Tomorrow it’ll smell a north woods moose
He skipped up the streets
of his childhood days
No vehicle honked
nor sluggish dog lay
Picket fences swung open
no locks on their gates
Deserted shops covered
their wares with their Fates
He dabbed at his cheek
a pool of tears forming there
As the Breezes fell silent
and the Sun did not care
I ordered a steak
It came back too rare
I looked in the mirror
I'm losing my hair
A traffic nut passed me on the right
Honked my horn with all my might
Watch the news or whatever is there
Tell you the truth, I just sit and stare
My business is worried, facing a loss
Lots of financial risk being the boss
Fearing for the workers, how they'll fare
Everything I have, it's tough not to care
The goose came to a hidden bump on the road
And wondered whether to fly or walk for a bit
But on reflection in a nearby puddle she feared
That piloerection was more than a natural reflex
Turned her back to the kind obstacle and honked
Gathered her fledglings and carefully retreated
It is Christmas soon and they might mistake me
For a turkey and the path leads to the slaughter
25th December 2019
A man drove by,
he honked his horn,
you looked at me like,
I had done something wrong.
Don't forget it was
you who left,had your
mind on her and yourself.
Slender and trim I'm
beginning to get,four
sizes smaller haven't
quite got there yet.
Telephone ringing off
the wall,had to go buy
an answering machine
to answer all the calls.
Sorry my dear, I have
to go,I have a dinner
date and I can't be late.
Form:
He could paint the air and draw the winds.
Of course that brief eulogy
was only spoken after his demise;
while alive he was often considered a clod and a bore.
Foreseeing no such post-mortem fame
he kept writing on water
knowing that there was an archive of his works
in an after-life waiting to be discovered
by his wandering soul.
In the meantime, ducks quacked, geese honked
and the little birds in his still beating heart
twittered on.