Short Maimed Poems
Short Maimed Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Maimed by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Maimed by length and keyword.
Next year, in the movie titles, to any Feature Film,
It will be mandatory to state such an important factor,
" No animals were eaten, maimed or killed,
And there was no sexual harassment of any actor!"
Renewing my driver's license, got by again
At my advanced years, haven'd killed or maimed
Cept for old ladies and cats
But aside from that fact
Obey most rules and at times stay in my lane
blood of fury desecrates
youngsters maimed by household strife
till church gongs ring of mercy
---love offerings pledged
Contest: Part 2 , Fully Booked
War and Peace
For nette onclaud 23 June 2016
Created animosities
scattered hearts
in the fields and streets,
broken wires...
maimed
the disillusioned roots
shape lives
now empty
reconciled lives
no direction and right route...
reality created by
warlords !
They invaded you,
On your sick bed,
They maimed you,
Dismantled you,
Turned off life support,
Switched off oxygen,
Left you lifeless,
And walked away,
To buy you casket,
No a coffin,
With three sides...
©Poet Igweee
The distrust inflames me
A tainted image
An angel fallen into the flames
How could he?
He stained my fantasy
Stabbed my trust
Maimed my dreams
And now all i have are ashes of what could have been
A dream killed too soon.
build me an effigy
red brick stone
one brick alone
a tear
a sorrow
a wall
built to contain
a soul maimed
build me a pyre
gold covered relief
a smooth curved bowl
made to hold my soul
set it afire
with belief (c)mjr 2007
blood drops
falling skyward
and down again
causing pillars of blood
and dirt of maimed reddened figures
scattered across the land
the bloodshed continues
on sides of good
and of evil
pillars of skyward bloodshed
form.
TRUE STORY
He was sweet and wanted her to have his son
She felt he could indeed be the one
He waited for the day to be named
She was hit by a bus and maimed
Legs horribly mangled beyond repair
He left her in selfish despair
Maimed support undone,
the battle won ~
is still that tyranny's succumb
mates jeopardy with truth, upon the run!
Prowess protects more than
the "rule of thumb"!
Support not my position's drum,
If I am able . . . and yet still dumb!
Notre Dame
now maimed
terror's imprint
hate proclaimed
Notre Dame
ravaged, lame
intolerance aflame
for shame, for shame
Notre Dame
great holy name
fearful to blame
~ to the world inflame
Not for the ND contest
Something unique to
the United States;
children are getting
murdered in schoolrooms.
Innocent kids
maimed and slaughtered,
by crazed classmates
brandishing guns.
And moms cry;
pleading for
gun control
laws, that'll
never
pass.
None can guess the darkening pain
Dull and aching it is
Emotive and locomotive
It keeps me never at ease
Disease to rhyme with universe
When ready it is to cry
Maimed at the mere sight
Of evil, winning as the spy!
Honorable mention in Sara's contest : My Quiet Place
Thousand of miles away he came.
Salvation of souls to proclaim.
Silver nor gold, not his aim.
But our lost glory to reclaim.
How powerful is his name?!
The lame and maimed walked in his name.
A creator born king, with his fame,
on the tree, bore his creature's shame.
I won’t shop Black Friday
because I’m not ready
to fend for my life
in a scene rough and heady.
So call me a coward!
You won’t see me fight ‘em,
and risk getting maimed
for a much-desired item.
Date: November 28, 2019
Contest Title: McWhirtle Me
Sponsor: Charles Messina
The Cross is our crutch: we are lamed and maimed,
Crippling sin in our soul,
Defiled and scourged, our faith defamed,
Golgotha our gloried goal.
The Cross is a bludgeon for smiting down
Death in his sable gown.
It’s Roman-hewn and Jesus-borne,
Encircled with blood-flecked thorn.
The Cross is our crutch: we are lamed and maimed,
Crippling sin in our soul,
Defiled and scourged, our faith defamed,
Golgotha our gloried goal.
The Cross is a bludgeon for smiting down
Death in his sable gown.
It’s Roman-hewn and Jesus-borne,
Encircled with blood-flecked thorn.
Who?What?How?
He was Ernst Ludwig Kirchner
The German expressionist
So badly maimed was he during his artists life
That he emerged as Hitler in1938
He overheard the Gods talking
About a world without sexually depraved humans
And creator and hater became
Destroyer and lover
of Kali.
Limerick: An Invasion by the Maimed, Tamed and the Lame
An invasion by the Maimed, Tamed and the Lame
Is still an invasion by any other name
“She stoops to conquer!”
Hearths freeze in fire
Better life for theirs is the name of the game.
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2015
They traced the boundaries
And split the minds
A savage then bellowed
Come hold my hand
Loyalties maimed
Even the gods' they cried
Grace just scattered
For the tears to dry
Will these contours
Just blur and conjoin
When hearts doth speak
Shatter thoughts so weak --
(c)copyright-vijay nair
What have we done to our blue skies what have we done to our land
neglectful beings that we are we abused the works of His doting hand
What made us think that we were Kings in a Kingdom not quite ours
with Mother Nature maimed we're paupers, living on counted hours
Menaced by a triumphant chanting of lament
Entrancing the soul of Hades’ kin
Missed eruptions of the sensory nerves
Onomatopoeic of hollow gongs
Resonating, maimed through the indescribable facets of
Your forgotten youth.
Adjudged 3rd Place in Black Eyed Susan's Acrostic Contest
© 07-31-2012
These hands mend minds and massage maimed muscles
These hands protect the powerless providing strength to suffering souls
These hands rarely rest, they’d rather
Save sinners souls from flinty fires
Carry cold welcoming waters toward the thirsty
Fetch food for famished fellows
These hands are always here
The uniformity of death
Blue and White
Fattened out with pin stripes
Until they did not resemble
A single shred of humanity
A ghost in all but name
Shamed and maimed
Dead behind the eye's and soul
Destined for the showers
Where cleanliness,
Is next to godliness
Meant exactly that
I loved her sorrows.
We shared a mask
that we spoke through -
a mail-box for wordless hungers.
Passion maimed us,
even I shed tears sensing
a Puccini last act.
She read herself in my face;
I gave her long-range forecasts.
She endured –
desperately believing
that I would always be there
to mop up.