Short Patrons Poems
Short Patrons Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Patrons by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Patrons by length and keyword.
An unshaven programmer tech
Drooled java on a Starbucks deck
His net earnings grew
As fooled patrons threw
Dinero to pay for his check
Donatello the greatest sculptor of his day
with his nude he held sway
Keeping close to his patrons,Medici
who settled bills& paid him a fee
once a breadmaker named peas
his shop it smelled of stale cheese
so patrons complained
and a court arraigned
he'd open after a breeze.
Bartenders are like Priest
on confession days
They listen contently to
their patrons
with open ears,
give advise,
then send them
on their way
A gifted pianist named Xavier
is known for some funny behaviour.
He likes to smoke hash
(which patrons find rash)
whilst playing Bach’s Well-Tempered Clavier.
A professional wrestler of gators
Tried his luck as a restaurant waiter
He'd feint and he'd juke
Many patrons puked
Seafood business surprisingly cratered
Men brood their loss and lie in jail
until their patrons pay their bail.
And then they lie upon the stand,
arresting truth on shifting sand.
written February 6, 2012
A blind poet stumbles into a bar
Counts the number of drunk patrons there are
Adds up all the burps
Plus all the loud slurps
Drives them home in his brand-new sports car
That magnificent canvas on the museum wall
Is it a bubble, a bauble, a bird -- or nothing at all?
Its mystery the artist masterfully disguised
So patrons will its enigma forever analyze
News to confirm,
and not to inform
A slap on the back,
new patrons reborn
To pander or slander,
a partisan line
No minds to be changed
—their chorus reminds
(Dreamsleep: February, 2021)
for sociology, politics, economics
theology or any other ethics
extremity
in human character
at every step of life
patrons terrorism!
extremist
mostly avoidable!
-July 26, 2019 Chattogram
Form:
By Angeline Vine
The rats were lively
falling from ceiling tiles
running for an open door
some had no tails
and later their photos were
on the news
The patrons were eating
spaghetti and meatballs
There once a lady who worked magic
If not for curling iron, 'twould be tragic
With a quick shampoo she cleaned
Telling stories from other's she's gleaned
Patrons leave as though renewed estatic
Dreamt of the cute waitress who served us last night
Frequent patrons of this eatery, crepes are dynamite
But the bonus is her hugs
Entering and leaving that I love
Especially when she offers her yummy dessert delight
burst of rapid energy
voluptuous curves of
your flirting innocence
angels intoxicated by the
patrons of branded love
dance in the mouth of a
surreptitious storm
witnessing the loud past
of a circulating wind
we are making
our bed
Form:
books feel no pain
though tattered and torn.
not pricked with voodoo precision,
chiseled at the gums.
my upturned smile borrows misery.
I can not turn the pages.
the patrons read my lips
"woe be gone"
The piano preening proudly center-stage
Her keys dazzling diamonds
While patrons crane stiff collars
To steal an unfettered look.
The lights dim, pin-drop silence
As the soloist, majestic, breathes deep
~ An elegant flick of his wrist
Dreamt of the yummy waitress who served us last night
Frequent patrons of this eatery whose crepes are dynamite
But the bonus is her hugs
Entering and leaving that I love
Especially when she offers her yummy dessert delight
Dreamt of the yummy young thing that served us last night
Frequent patrons of this eatery whose crepes are dynamite
But the bonus is her hugs
Entering and leaving that I love
Especially when she offers her yummy dessert delight
She was a jolly seamstress Miss Gritches
Who was a whiz at patchin' men's britches
And alterin' ladies skirts
And sewin' buttons on shirts
'Twas said she kept her patrons in 'stitches'
The Sahara is another vast sea
Of zero-edge horizons
And remote hours of austerity
For "sailors" upon caravans
And the Sun beams mercilessly
And seems cruel to patrons
Until the Wind scoffs haggardly
And reshapes its art of dunes.
Eagles make nests in them
Vagaries of life stamp their backs
Blood delicious for mosquitoes
Ghosts of hatred pay regular visits
Patrons of hunger pray for them
Exploited but paid well they are
With currencies of negligence
And gift packages of mockery
The writer earwigged her way through town
Looking harmless as she sat down
Ordering pancakes and staying for hours
Making notes of conversation showers
Eavesdropping on people from every direction
Sometimes ordering an extra coffee or sweet little confection.
he wore a tiny boater hat,
my mouse who played guitar,
and patrons at the local pub
cheered, "wow, you've got a star!"
but then some talent-scout came in
while mouse strummed on the bar …
"because he cannot sing," he groused,
"he'll never make it far."
I’m the venue not the marquee,
shining brighter than a bold glow.
Air flooding thick curtains you see,
I’m the venue not the marquee.
That shrill thrill chases energy
amplifying patrons gung-ho.
I’m the venue not the marquee,
shining brighter than a bold glow.