Short Nobodies Poems
Short Nobodies Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Nobodies by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Nobodies by length and keyword.
There once was a bold prig named Wiener
who had an unsightly demeanor
he took pics of his crotch
after two shots of scotch
"Where's his wife? Well nobodies seen her."
They lay entombed, the stone cut’s humor rife:
A Doe, his dear, between them lies his knife.
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H/T to Nobodies Forgot by James Starkey III
Bodies at the morgue
seem to be waiting
for partners …
Waiting, waiting still
like nothing.
Bodies at the morgue
seem to be so
for good …
So poor and dull and so
low.
Bodies today;
nobodies tomorrow.
Don’t listen to what,
Those nobodies tell you to do.
If you listen to those nobodies.
You’ll be a nobody too.
Follow what lies in your mind;
Ignore the ridicule from everybody.
If you do what’s in your heart,
You’ll be somebody.
everything I strived for
I lost
everything I loved
I lost
cause she could only take so much
I give up on givin a f**k
because im lost
lord please take my life
its nobodies loss
I used to think she was right
until I learned
everyday we'll fight
so now I move on
to a journey to find ms right
but before then
I don't wanna count
my sleepless nights
it happened just as I say it did:
I was ten or sometime after.
late for school,
running uphill
then I stopped running
and walked into an open field
knowing I was nobodies problem.
I left town following a disused railway track
and never turned back
except the ending of this story
has been rewritten by time
for that same day,
like a wet dog
coming in from the rain
I returned.
sleep in life's coma,
i lead my Odyssey, or does my pen bleed i'm i Homer.
freeze, but it's hot where these souls reach,
nobodies hands up, they just stand up, on they soap box and preach.
instead of trying to teach,
to our necks is there feet,
hands in our pockets, only a profit they seek.
only destruction they leave,
or disease in our foods and its toxic to breath.
but it's nothing to me.
sleeping in life's coma.
shhh let me be.
The clothesline hung, low, and limp.
Raucous, red, long johns
and worn, white, blue jeans
pinned like butterflies in a box;
dangled bodiless.
The neighbors all envied Mom’s skill.
Nobodies tidy whities were brighter.
The pulley wheel whined and clanked
against back porch clapboards
when a stiff wind blew through.
And, the state of your laundry
was like the state of the union jack;
you hung ‘um both high
and took ‘um down when the rain came.