Short Numbering Poems
Short Numbering Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Numbering by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Numbering by length and keyword.
There was a rabbit in Tennessee
His offspring numbering forty three
His manners much less than polite
Caught in a garden without an invite
Now he's on a plate you see; served as rabbit fricassee
A beautiful child dreams endless flight,
Great honor inside juggling kind light,
Memories numbering on pictures quiet,
Remembering surreal times unite,
Visions wondering Xanadu yelling zzz’s.
They were in disagreement about the basketball foul line.
Soon yelling and screaming, boys numbering eight or nine.
Some of them ran off, but two became rebelliously loud.
Sportsmanship tested, said their fathers, feeling proud.
Short Poem Dysphoria
Miracle Man
1/14/2023
Due to lifely issues, numbering a bunch,
quality of life has taken a different track.
Today, Dysphoria is eating my lunch,
and readies itself to pop the sack.
Tom
Homey Domey Gomey Loamy Foamy Stoamy Roamy Doo
Delighted mice are dancing, around the kitty fiddler’s shoe
an hour ago I counted happy rodents numbering up to sixty-two
None of them realizing they are being led to a pot of tasty mousey stew
Pat Garrett sent Billy to heaven -
plugged 'im with slugs, numbering seven.
How he got to heaven, I don't know -
that lowdown, no-count so and so.
The Kid grew wings, said, "Glory hallelujah -
up here, bullets go straight through ya."
Blotches and splotches,
Pink and red
Don't dare scratch:
It'll spread
Treat with loathsome liniments
And soporific pills,
But there's not a real cure:
Must suffer the ills
Watch out for pointy leaves
Grouped together, numbering three
Do your best to avoid it:
Poison ivy—the devil's weed
Golden pears, hollowed, hanging
lit internal, a thousand tea lights
tree limb treasures, firefly pulsing
stirring the movements of every delight
Cinnamon stars, flicker, watching
burning red, a thousand years lost
taking the glory, out numbering man
in their efforts to mold an original thought.
in 1978 just trying to survive
newly-released pumas numbering five
attacked livestock in Cornwell
terrorizing remote farms where cattle dwell
labeled murderous beasts of Bodmin Moor
devouring animals, this was no folklore
pets released upon an unknowing countryside
when these cats were hungry, there was no place to hide
Dad I’m painting a picture
On a canvas of blue
With striking vivid colours
Numbering just a few
The brush strokes delivered
Reach far beyond
Till they touch from the sky
Arching down to the ground
Beholding is its beauty
As the sun comes shining through
So Dad it’s a rainbow
And I painted it for you
Brenda Elizabeth Rose
I beckon to my hand…
Give life, to live, to be
My inspiration land…
Strength for my eyes to see
The glory of which
My writings hide
The wizard and witch
In symbols outlined
Let my books score me
The pen numbering number
The awoken coming
Inspiration in slumber
Power o the game of poetry
Grant me a remarkable entry.
snail gave the elf a lift with a sniff
so he could procure a floral whiff
elf profusely thanked his step stool live
please come for tea at half past five
snail had never been invited to anyone’s tea
He tried on outfits numbering twenty-three
just go said his wife, don’t make such a big deal
elf fed him an incredible fly-pie and meal.
Little fingers smear the wall
Mud, food, or mystery goo
Those tiny hands touch it all
Dark streaks on the chair of blue
On the curtain, table, and rug
Wiped along the sofa arm too
In the kitchen a tipped milk jug
I spy the footprints across the floor
And a lost lovey awaiting a hug
I follow the tracks out the door
Finding tired children numbering four
I beckon to my hand…
Give life, to live, to be
My inspiration land…
Strength for my eyes to see
The glory of which
My writings hide
The wizard and witch
In symbols outlined
Let my books score me
The pen numbering number
The awoken coming
Inspiration in slumber
Power o the game of poetry
Grant me a remarkable entry.
Username:goodyylan
"Iambic pentameter"
I raced down the stairs and went on my way,
balancing dishes, numbering trey:
A charcuterie board with neatly sliced ham,
some dainty crackers and strawberry jam -
and delectable cookies on a tray.
Should I have brought something else instead?
I didn't want to appear ill-bred.
I tripped as I thought,
but balanced to save what I bought,
and broke an arm, a leg, and my head.
Pink squid woman hopped out of her ship.
She swam the ocean, then headed toward shore.
Albino woman asked, “how was your trip?”
They counted their seashells; there were thirty-four.
Pink squid woman thanked Albino woman for the good time.
Her friend gave her a hug and seashells numbering nine.
Hope to see you again in the next century, she said.
But alas, by then both of these creatures were dead.
Age methodically creeps up on us,
Until productive years seem spent.
Leaving us to recall fond memories,
Like some useless old malcontent.
The things that once delighted us,
Have scurried from our eye's view.
Now with health issues we're mired,
And our good days seem all too few.
We put off things until we retire,
Reasoning then we'll make more time.
Numbering opportunities we let pass,
Discovering late, we're past our prime.
STRETCH SCREEN
We study the flowers in the field,
One by one...
Discover their properties and what they yield,
Numbering the petals...
We classify them by leaf, and by their seeds,
We give them names...
Discovering new trees, fungus, and weeds,
One by one...
We catalog thousands, living and dead,
Perspective is close...
Unwittingly lifting a tenacious head,
we finally see ... the field.
-Edlynn Nau
© February 19, 2019
Groupie saw Droopie and was amazed once again.
He looks like my twin! He yelled. He looks like my twin!
They were blowfish in a fishbowl, altogether numbering two.
One was light green, the other one was a lovely light blue.
How do I know which one I am? Groupie asked his mother.
Do you feel like yourself? Or grandma or your brother?
I feel like Droopie, maybe I am him, Groupie said.
“No, I am Droopie,” Droopies said, swimming fast, overhead.
A forty- nine line poem (which is rated no 19 in PS top 100 love poems listing) that is visually improved in those versions thereof that drop the stanza breaks & leave off the quirky numerical side numbering ( in this version presented here by PS) which merely disrupts both reading & reciting ..as does the traditional first word line capitalisation of what otherwise is a valiant poetic attempt to capture the fundamentals of the key human life aspiration
Sacrificial Souls
Dollar signs
Hiding behind
A noble cause
Babies crying
For their mother
Decapitated lives
Sacrificial lambs
Paying the price
For the sins of a nation
Butchered innocence
Head count taken
Numbering the corpses left behind
On your trail of death
Nameless, faceless carrions
Anonymity meaning endless justification
Over the destruction of a helpless enemy
Without a sword, a dimmer world
Each time a beautiful soul is sacrificed in vain
Ocean calls,
From the endless to the shore.
Not one,
Yet,
Countless waves,
Calling your name.
Never mind the numbering,
Foolish to know,
Only this,
From Beyond it's proclaimed as Love.
Heaven to the opened sea,
The blue beauty must obey,
Inviting you to walk on,
Go deep,
And in between.
Therefore,
Sea water,
Ink in pen.
Ocean tide,
I hear you well,
In the calling,
Her name.
You know who you are,
Time to go poetry swimming,
My Friend.
Ocean Poet-
Form:
A-Acrostic
N-Numbering down
A-All words
C-Creating new
R-Reforming Yalto
O-Outstanding
S-Style with
T-Talented
I-Ibeh
C-Creating
Y-Yalto form
A-Amazing work done
L-Learning new poetry
T-This
O-Outstanding work done
“Acrostic numbering down all words creating new reforming Yalto outstanding style with talented Ibeh creating Yalto form amazing work done learning new poetry this outstanding work done”
Syllables
3, 4, 2, 4, 5, 3, 2, 3 ,2, 3, 3, 5, 6, 1, 5
Breaking The Law
Miracle Man
November 12, 2023
Illegals swarm like locusts to our southern edge,
numbering thousands they have taken no pledge.
Because of sheer numbers they flex their might,
but not coming legally they’re creating disquiet.
We house them in hotels while at their beck and call,
all could be avoided if we’d just finish that wall.
If those we’ve elected started earning their pay,
there’d be a place for all when it came their day.