Short In The Gutter Poems
Short In The Gutter Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about In The Gutter by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about In The Gutter by length and keyword.
Rain whispering
in the gutter -
gossip passed along
its length all night
until finally being
silenced
by the downpipe.
A burning desire
Sodom became ash for lust
Strewn in the gutter
No one desrved it
Like Mrs. Lot, for looking back
Her salt is preserved
Big Spender thought he'd take a flutter
On the market for peanut butter
He blew their savings
On foodie cravings
And they ended up in the gutter
Teachers know some liars will sputter
And judges know liars will mutter
But truth be told
Some are quite bold
Donald Trump will lie in the gutter!
There are tulips in the gutter
perfect blooms,
destined for dinner with a friend,
they were meant for the table
but alas she was unable to attend
I represent Modern Vanity
and also Modern Insanity
I can cuss in the gutter
and in verse I can utter
words that are Modern Profanity
A girl with her mind in the gutter
Did not know why her heart would flutter
A priest came along
Who knew what was wrong
And showed her the way to churn butter
Bowl the ball forward; not back
Someone's leg you just might crack!
Someone's ball is in the gutter?
Oh the things people will mutter!
Hoping you have the knack!
Sink in me
Get drunk with me
Until am all you see
As you relax in the gutter
Of my arms where you sleep
And am still your bartender
Still giving you love so tender
Form:
Poems Collected in a Big Clutter
My poems collected in a big clutter,
And mind worries and does shutter;
A real whiz,
Thinks he is;
Found Trump had his in the gutter.
Jim Horn
Route 66ish No 5
There was a young girl from Spokane,
Who drove both her parents insane,
She was cursed with a stutter,
And would sit in the gutter,
Screaming "G God I h hate all this rain!!!
Masks on the hill
masks in the gutter
used and wrinkled
new age garden of Eden
where everyone's beautiful.
Masks under the shell
shift them around
let the blind guess which one
cloaks the truth of this new age hell.
Dead body laying in the gutter
puss dripping out like melted lumpy butter.
His dody lies
his mind still flies.
He feels deaths pains
within his vains.
Where he goes he does not know
Heaven or Hell
the gutter he fell.
Form:
“Open wide”, said he, “wanna see what you've got
Settle down, I'm your dentist, wanna see your chops
Your mind's in the gutter”
Then he started to stutter
Began to squim as she nibbled his naughty spots
© Jack Ellison 2015
Intimate, but only so cozy
passionate, but just to a point
What once seemed rosy
forever disappoints…
When kisses no longer breathe
and emotions cease to seethe
What remains to recover
‘cept the flotsam in the gutter
You can't put a better bit of butter on your platter because a martyr did shatter the packet of your butter as it did welter in the gutter, but that waiter did cater you this later, muttering about an utter butter-hater from Gloucester with bitter hauteur.
TABLE SIN OF NOUVEAU RICHE
sweetest dawn he ever knew
Toast was perfect, sky was blue
from the window all he saw ---
Sparkling as the artists draw
BUT
that
NIGHT
didn't whine, didn't stutter
when he wakened in the gutter
Didn't know he'd tempted Fate
Nibbling garnish from his plate
To step a moment back through time's veils
To stand beside a slowly flowing river
To reach down with cupping hands
and swallow the cold sweetness of fresh clean water
Then blink to stand again in the gutter
of New York's East Side
Watching the beautiful colors of
oily puddling sunlit filth
I hear howling wolves growling in the gutter.
Rivers of torn flesh pour forth from the gates of sin.
Philanthropists boast with a nasal mutter.
Subliminal shrieks create a rising din.
I sit rigid in suspended animation.
Skin pulled apart by great demonic wolves.
A punishment I shall soon double in revenge.
They speak at length about the moral.
But I know the pigeon
and its custom
to alight on the shoulders
of the children,
on the palms of enamored,
to sleep
under the roof of Notre Dame.
They speak at length like a wind
in the gutter.
And we are the Sunday bells.
See, the pigeon – dear.
See, the pigeon.
Weak but feelings are strong
got hurt heart feels numb
can't breath throat is dry
want to kill my thirst but i just cant cry
caught between one breath and the other
I want to break free but I'm stuck in the gutter
I need help but no words come out
tired by every second that goes by
got no wings but i still want to fly
FIXED
The gleam of wet cobblestones
Fixes the pictures of childhood
And the familiar twist in the fence
Of rusting iron holds my soul.
The slow dawn of this black industrial town,
The rapid darkening in its sundown,
Gathering in the gutter the black rain
Cannot find a way to drain:
God knows how I hate it,
God knows how I loved it.
A glimmer of hope flashes upon the horizon.
My mistake as the barbed wire plays a cruel trick,
audasity to think!
Reflection of a once happy childhood.
Now morphs into a migraine.
winter leaves now lay dorment in the gutter,
once the vouge.
kites crash and burn without wind,
the result of my deal with the devil pawned soul.
End.
A bum called Boe has stubbed his toe, he’s stumbled in the gutter;
with broken neck, he looks a wreck, the sparrows all aflutter.
The passers-by, they close an eye, and turn their heads to mutter:
“Let’s pray for rains to cleanse the lanes, to rid the road of clutter.”
A river slows neath mountain snows, and leaves begin to shudder.
Sorrow left him for dead in the gutter
Everyone walks by and they see him
Their eyes can see him, but their hearts don't
Another dreadful morning another night
Filled with reckless drinking as a way
To cope with his disadvantages
So...
He gets up and brushes himself off
His sight is upon the rising sun
And his regret behind the parting moon