Short Pamphlet Poems
Short Pamphlet Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Pamphlet by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Pamphlet by length and keyword.
Election Day Footles
Non-Voters
Passive
Asses
Unenrolled Voters
Selection
Defection
Last ditch pitch
Stand out
Hand out
Crumpled and pitched
Pamphlet
Spam-let
3/3/2016
"Knock-Knock!" - Who's there?
"Knock on would!" - Knock on wood who?
"Who the hell would ever knock on wood?!"
"What are ya some kinda unbelievable idgit?!"
"May I offer you a complementary pamphlet?"
"It explains how and why God loves you
more than anybody else ever could..."
A letter has been forwarded to me
from my ex-wife.
A pamphlet from a spiritual group
I had some interest in years ago.
I’m reading the small newsletter
with its quotes and nuggets of ancient wisdom
wondering,
what became of that younger man
so earnestly seeking,
then again, maybe he found something -
better.
Ding dong
Child runs for the door
Eager, excited, thrilled
With whoever is there
Expecting the best possible scenario
Adult has completely different reaction
Slowly gets off of couch, heads toward door
Home invasion? Religious pamphlet-distributor?
Girl Scout Cookie sales?
Experience and knowledge have taken their toll.
all It takes to become American
a voice and patience
as the guy for the interview never asked me the flag
as I am not here for a driving test
and read your pamphlet ********
just give me the seal and will pay to get a passport
but for sure walk to the statue of liberty to give a bow
as I took allegiance and went to the post office
I shivered like a fragile leaflet
While reading the yellow pamphlet.
In the ink of an evening sight,
A name from a moonless night
Plundered my fading calmness,
With memories of forbidden fondness.
Is it he or she,
Who’s done this to me?
The bygones are drowned in flooded tears,
My skyless soul still mirrors fears.
A secret I’ll bear to my tomb,
Beneath the soil—it’ll never bloom.
Rivers of bright reds and browns sink into the soil,
sugar maple surrenders to silence.
Winter has little mercy for the colours of life.
But in early spring, buried bulbs rise, ready for the new toil.
The sun forces out a new drop of blood from the inner bark,
desire born out of suffering pulls roots from beneath the mud.
(this poem is from Eleni's pamphlet Autumn Dedications, 2015)
The shelves of your forehead wrinkles
are still undusted. I scrub them clean with hot tears,
carefully placing selected stories
on the continuum between you and me.
I twine our joint years around your neck,
covering you with Wisteria flowers.
In that royal coat I make you believe
there are no blue and red granules
in our blood.
(This poem is from Eleni's pamphlet Autumn Dedications, 2015)
Listen to poem:
(Another childhood poem)
A pamphlet file in green metallic
thrusts through neon antinight
its cornered self, harsh in glare.
Piers of five-tiered fingers --
shelves -- extend beyond,
in series: a formal pattern,
rectangular and angular.
Artificial electric shine reflects
bland or blatant color.
There are books, some in disarray
in order placement on the shelves.
All: solid, relentless, inflexible.
And most were made for use
by patterns much more rigid still.
The glossy brochure made a promise,
To those maybe living with strife,
That by moving to their Senior Eden,
You’d find “wellness” the way of your life.
Though perhaps their apartments are lovely
And the clubhouse has classes and such,
To offer a life filled with “wellness,”
Is really, to me, just too much.
For no matter how shiny the pamphlet,
It all adds to a hill full of beans
When you bat around language like “wellness,”
Since I have no idea what it means.