Short Matador Poems
Short Matador Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Matador by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Matador by length and keyword.
The famous killer seven the great...
I killed seven mosquitoes
All of a Sole Played
I turned hero immediately,... !
A HERO NOW I AM...
Under
The full moon
El Matador
Dressed in his Bolero
Held pose
His lean
Muscled form
Above the norm
Now shows a pounch from age
Still loved
A well-groomed matador José
Liked to moisturize with Oil of Olay
His hands lost their grip
The cape it did slip
He was gored as he cried out "¡Olé!"
A brave matador, named Jose
Marched into the bull ring, one day.
There arose a great cheer,
When a disgruntled steer
Charged in, and chased Jose away.
Romantic Ramona from Verona
Fell hard for a matador named Jonah
She hopped on a plane
Headed straight for Spain
Found out Jonah lived in Arizona
the matador enters a china shop
This can’t be good! Yelled out Cousin Slop.
The rest of us began to laugh, which made him mad.
If there is anyone you do not interrupt, it is my Dad.
Carlos was a world famous matador
He had suffered a ton of blood and gore
He'd made lots of dinero
Tanglin' with old el toro
Carlos retired to be 'bullied' no more
a hero in the heart
where blood spills over dust
scarcely missing polished boots
palms to the lips
and a kiss to crowds who cheer
his downing of the beast
abanico and acero
grace at the altar of horns
for love in the dances of death
Form:
Jose, quixotic matador, no fool
Played it close to the vest, clung to this rule
Since the bull might kill
He never took a swill
Nothing harder than kool-aid ~ suit-a-ble
Panda Pete was an avid carnivore
Devoured small birds, snakes, and wanted more
Followed the Amazon River to Ecuador
where he lived with a meat-eating matador
these two had a great time shopping at a grocery store
purchasing steaks, roasts, chicken, fish, meats galore.
The rain pitter patters off the tin roof
Like little mice scurrying the dirt looking for a meal
It lulls me to sleep, into a peaceful slumber
I am awakened soon by booming thunder
Like the rush of a bull attempting to gore his matador
Oh the crazy animals in my nature!
disjointed efforts pulling sinews apart
inside the coliseum of sexual contest
an ensanguined sheet is waved
relentlessly taunting the stubborn beast
their saline soaked hides
give meaning to the matador's intent
without spilling the bull's blood
he sighs with lament
In a town a clown
in a field a circus
the clown is in tears
the circus packed....
A angry bull in an arena
The matador dressed magnificently
The bull attacks
The matador battered.....
In a church a priest
In a school a girl
The priest hugs the girl
inappropriately
280.
No to Bloodshed!
Behold the 1 you want to become more
In your eyes I am a hateful wild boar
But in truth, I can even never be a melee warrior
My physique is not fit for a gladiator
Nor for a bloodthirsty matador!
-11/20/2014
(Dumarao)
*My Bloody Poems Collection
He'd lived for fighting! In the ring,
the matador was hailed as brave.
They said he was the bull fight king.
He'd lived for fighting in the ring.
But then he lost, one day in spring -
his birthday - trampled to his grave.
He'd lived! For fighting in the ring,
the matador was hailed as brave!
written 9th May, for Andrea's Triolet contest
Limerick : Once slick Senorita from Sevilla – 6
Once slick Senorita from Sevilla
Watched proud Toro shamed by faena*
So she lured Picador
Behind her unlocked door
And gored him till he split on his Pica.
• faena : the manœuvres with the cape
the toro is subjected to by the matador
after the maiming of the magnificent beast
by the picador
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2013
Pedro, a slick, suave and smooth matador
The pride of his native-state, Ecuador
He'd flash his red cape
The bull would go ape
After each pass, the fans shouted, 'Encore!'
One time Pedro let the bull come too close
The crowd sat in stunned silence, comatose
Pedro may have been gored badly
Yet he still smiled most gladly
'Time for a new gig,' he said ~ 'Adios!'
A fool matador by name of El Cid
Could not control either ego or id
Turned his back on the bull
Felt a rude tug, hard pull
Two horns split his tights down the seams, they did
One should never turn his back on a bull
Unless, of course, one's extremely skillful
Bulls are fierce and large
For certain they'll charge
Just to get a yummy good bellyful
~ B.B. and G.W. ~
General Black awoke from something so frightening.
He said to his wife at five thirty in the morning:
“Honey, I just had that dream that’s been reoccurring.
I saw a matador killing a bull in the ring.
Why every night would I dream about such a strange thing?
They need me today in Washington for a meeting.
I will return tonight. Will you need money for anything?”
Based on the 1964 film "Fail-Safe"
The matadors cloak
Hides their crimes well.
And drips with the blood of the innocents.
Sacrificed on the altar of culture and tradition.
As the cry of ole rings out.
Their crimes Echo in an empty soul.
Sentient beings put to the sword
To amuse the masses.
Entertainment for the demented.
Give voice to those who cannot speak
Help stop the slaughter.
Use your voice to say
No way, not ole.
Bye bye to the matador.
Beneath the stormy sky, the Taurus stands pliant
to face the world with profound inner strength,
confronting life as if it’s a bullfight
where the aggressive world acts as the matador,
flapping the crimson capes of wavering crisis.
Obstinacy fostered as the survival mechanism
turns the bitter fight into a personal triumph,
proving that true power is the ability
to stand the ground until the arena is quiet.
like a hot iron upon the palm
i bullmark blackened charcoal
to paper, searing each line as i write.
the ring of a coffee mug on my journal
turns pencil to spear coffee imprint
to dusty hoofprint....
and i am as a spanish matador cursing
the majesty of the great beast.
with its last threshold of a breath
in the pastures of praise, percing
its side with a number 2 pencil.
so gently in it's ashen shore of flesh
i die a little too....
Form:
LET ME
When a smile pours
From your face in delight
Let me feel refreshed
In its liquid softness.
If distance separates us
Let me sense your spirit close
As you touch me deep
And light my way
Let me soak my soul
In your bright water
When shark attacks with gory teeth
Let me swim between
And bloody it as a matador
Or share its sharp tips
And as the waves
Swell us to the surface
The closeness of a heartbeat
Is all that separates us.
Let me be
No further away.
Eleven elves even the score.
Fashioning into a matador.
A bull comes along, but does not gore.
Aiding elves is what he had sworn.
If you believe this is mere folklore,
I will ask you to please go next door
To borrow salt, sugar, tea, and more.
For they are rich, and we are poor.
I can no longer show myself at the store.
I am a thief, sought out by the owner Ms. Core.
Her husband is even meaner, they are both a bore.
No more questions. Please just go next door.
Halitosis hocus pocus,
Cures my malevolence for graveolence.
The serene Listerine of oral hygiene,
A matador piercing malodor,
With one mouthful of
Gin taken on the chin.
I do risk
Lucidity to rid the morbidity,
I may lumber rising from slumber.
Yet those taken
A back by this quack,
Can rest assured against the absurd.
One cannot
Ignore the heretofore.
In addition, I offer admonition
Beware!
Another tends to smother
Any care of even being aware.