Short Misprint Poems

Short Misprint Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Misprint by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Misprint by length and keyword.


Premium Member My Lucky Penny Misprint

A one-time freelance stamp collector,
Tiny flaw, red-inked inferred branch,
One cent stamp, collectors gem,
Misprint worth six thousand,
Dealers called it rare,
Cash in my hand,
Lucky strike,
Good find,
Mine.
Form: Nonet


Premium Member Foreign Antichock Behavior

we seen the misprint 
with a scream
intense and unlike any other
he belts out something foreign
coke strapped under his placket
adolescent Antichock 
Antichock outlandish behavior  
sins in and out
comes and goes
one minute gone the next
this guy’s foreign sinful shout out
thoughts still racing about 
The Antichock Kid
kid

Premium Member Bold Misprint Espinela

That cup flooding me with sunshine
causes my eyes to promptly squint. 
Skeptical of this bold misprint
it can’t be, the moods don’t align. 

Out of control of what is mine,
just becomes a fight not to pout.
Anything bright? I chase with doubt.
I don’t trust the sky shining down,
it has a glow yet holds that frown. 
I’m tossing that thought process out.
Form: Other

Premium Member You Sir, A Loser - A Footle that Dares to be Different

      Race is over
      Straits of Dover
      Not swum yet
        ~  lost the bet

       Nag’s name’s 
       Ferd’nand
         ran race
         ~ last place

        Super Bowl
        My team fell
           lost a mint
           ~ no misprint

          Last nickel          
          buy pickle
           tastes sour 
             ~ cold shower
Form: Rhyme

Lickety-Split

The silence of the road
intends to pause the observer’s speed.
Unchanged continuity
had a cubic quality.

Presenting yourself to lick salt
before molestation.
The sanctity
stands violated.

The horror thing looms
large,neatly dressed
dancing in your boots.
The path ends at a tree.

You misprint the name
of a tormentor.
Man becomes a beast
in a love triangle.



Satish Verma
art
Form: ABC


Philosophical Poetry Week: Transient Tuesday

I am a misprint,
Ink blot on love,
I remain a maybe
Longing for fact,
No speck of lint,
A hand in glove.
Thunder; a baby
Will only react

When you etch
Parallel clouds,
Whistling on cue
To a dead town.
Dream a sketch
Of silent crowds
Becoming you,
This boiling crown

Chews thought
Into flagellation.
Holes in the walls
To spy through,
Seeking a sort
Of bricked-up sun.
A heaven of halls,
All leaving you.
© Dan Keir  Create an image from this poem.
Form: Verse

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