Short Linoleum Poems
Short Linoleum Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Linoleum by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Linoleum by length and keyword.
I ride a leaky newspaper raft
Adrift on the linoleum
Anxiously awaiting an
An attack of smelly
squirming happiness
covered in fuzz:
Puppy love.
Grinning
Oblivious in iridescent linoleum unconsciousness
Glorious-
dismantle me into dust.
"wrecked"
11.16.21
Liberum Divisa 8 Poetry Contest
His guard couldn’t help snitchin’
When he washed grenades in his kitchen.
This general had a hazardous heart,
His name: Linoleum Blownapart.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Midnight kitchen glow~
your laughter pools like spilled milk,
warm between cold tiles.
We are all clumsy dancers
in this moonlit ballet.
Morality is just a word when you have the cleaver.
Blood seeps into the linoleum like crimson ink.
I'll love you to death, and beyond the autopsy.
Your going to be a masterpiece, the face of darkness.
The pitter patter of petite paws
Puppies take off across the linoleum
After a ball dancing and bouncing along the floor
They hear their owner whistle
They yip in response
Scampering back to the kitchen for dinner
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
In the kitchen at 3 a.m.,
dust motes hang suspended
in a wedge of streetlamp glow.
Grandmother's teacup
rests half-full on the counter,
steam still coiling upwards
though she left thirty years ago.
The linoleum remembers.
open door; icewall
crusted as a rabid eye
all the change of skin in frost
a bedouin of snow
consider the end ;
white room; stiff starch
the soft slide of slippers
along linoleum
winter`s partner; a slower cold
an open channel to everywhere, here
a flickering screen
a faded dream
a memory of color
a monochrome world
antennas reach
skeletal hands clutching for the sky
grasping at echoes
all lost in transmission
a spectral ballet on the cracked linoleum
a faded warmth of memory
as embers die in ashes
open channels hum…
My hearts beats
heavy in my chest,
As steady as
the tapping of your foot
on the linoleum.
The dripping faucet,
the ticking clock,
the bubbling coffee maker.
Only in silence
does noise grow loudest to the ears.
My very own movements
feel foreign and unnatural,
As disassociated as you in my kitchen.
rebecca cloward
Form:
He shakes his head
against the linoleum.
I watch him rinse his mug
with my eyes closed
before the sound of the mug
shatters into pieces
just like the occasion.
I stare at him for a moment,
a ghost.
I thought I heard him
raise his eyebrows.
I just dropped my head.
"You're not real. You're dead."
2-21-2021
Credit: Someone You Love Is Gone by Gurjinder Basran, Page 17
For the lack of spiked heels
The carpet endured,
The linoleum had no dents,
Women walked with confidence,
Maintaining balance.
For the lack of spiked heels
Mothers were more patient,
Children could tell the difference,
Husbands hugged their wives,
Cats no longer feared for their tails.
The world returned to normal,
Nations sought peace,
Wars ceased.
All for the lack of spiked heels.
An empty box of wine on the
sticky linoleum spells out the
breaking of caste;
here the plateau is littered with condom wrappers,
half-eaten scraps of
food and other assorted forms of trash.
Oh yeah, brother! this is 2009, a
brave new world begun with a blast, a
world where derricks burn and markets crash;
Here there be Tygers, here there be a
chance to break the Hindu cycle, to
rise like embers from the ash!
Form:
Early Days
The highchair beside the kitchen door
my domain, vantage point of my world
on the linoleum checker board floor
I played until my knees were sore
The center of the world to me
I learned to know as my mother
cooked and cleaned while I was free
to grow into what I might be
A world consisting of black and white
as appropriate as the days television
images remembered vivid and bright
raised by my mother in love and light
Stephen
Flowers drawn in blood and ink,
littering the floor like sand.
Window lit with summer moon,
showing my failures and faults.
I smear my flowers across the linoleum with stained hand,
withered from the pale light.
I have seen the maelstroms,
thick with alcohol lightning.
I know the skies,
with their archipelagos of stars.
It has all brought sweet madness,
violet and lilac rainbows.
Lifting my dreamy eyes towards the ceiling,
I surrender to the tempest I only imagined.
Flowers drawn in blood and ink,
littering the floor like sand.
Window lit with summer moon,
showing my failures and faults.
I smear my flowers across the linoleum with stained hand,
withered from the pale light.
I have seen the maelstroms,
thick with alcohol lightning.
I know the skies,
with their archipelagos of stars.
It has all brought sweet madness,
violet and lilac rainbows.
Lifting my dreamy eyes towards the ceiling,
I surrender to the tempest I only imagined.
Not enslaved to the flow of time;
no peril yet for careless hands.
sealed and complete,
I picture it
off the floor,
a fragile capsule
packed with gallons
of linoleum spite.
to burn with it
the miles
up between us and flight
- but gravity, gravity
paves a path
to nearest harbor;
the egg lands on the catch
of my palm’s
bomb-hatch,
wingless.
defused.
a message maydayed to me:
are you tethered to the merest tock?
threatened by the slightest flick of wind?