Short Scrubbed Poems
Short Scrubbed Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Scrubbed by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Scrubbed by length and keyword.
rain fell heavily
across ancient memories
I clearly saw truth
scrubbed clean of invented dreams
my anserine guise unveiled
Those words bruised my soul
strummed my mysterious heart
with needled fingers
scrubbed my deluded mind
stranded me, in a deep mire
.
-Saeeda©
Sully had a downright dirty toe
She scrubbed it ‘til it was aglow.
It shriveled and it coughed.
Then it promptly fell off.
At the end of my marigold row.
Tails of pony, this strawberry-freckled Freda.
Strong-armed tomboy happily playing baseball.
Bathing beauty, Saturday night, when scrubbed clean.
Bitterly pitched out.
Lying on a truthful table;
Clinging like three-day-old food
To pots,
Still scrubbing,
Oh, still scrubbing
Off debris --
You are to me,
A lie wrapped up in honesty.
She brushed after
every meal
scrubbed every
fruit.
She had copious
concerns
re contamination
but had a blind spot
when she ate cadavers
of animals
deprived of animation
Bye bye love -
say hello
to my new goodbye.
Once I was emanating
my soul to your soul,
but now it's driven
straight into my deep taproot.
You're a stain that can't be
scrubbed up anymore.
each second scrubbed clean with newness
I face my demons
they skitter off in corners
i get to decide whether to chase them
tame them or walk the other way
each second my own
to enjoy with free will
A diamond in the rough
Both feet in depth to help it up
But no matter how much I scrubbed
I couldn't wash off the mud
Though my teary eyes could see its bright form
It's wrapped in mud so I gave it up
Twixt Alpha And Omega
By: Tom Wright
3/17/2006
Between our beginning and death,
Lies a happening strip, life, so dubbed.
Its distance abridged by each breath,
Until God, declares, mission scrubbed.
Intellectual hygiene…
the Poet declines
That dull antiseptic,
that deadens your mind
Once washed and then scrubbed,
the truth a charade
Academic consensus
—the Muse in her grave
(Villanova Pennsylvania: December, 2019)
Scrubbed rubbed the wrong way
And left hung up to dry
Blown away in the wind
Treated like a leper
I wasn't perfect but I tried
Treated like a sinner
Condemned sentenced
Feeling small
with no judge or jury
When I hadn't sinned at all.
As I went to get published,
Stopped for ale and grub.
At a place called the Longfish;
Which is a great pub.
Well that first book it got scrubbed;
Thrown in the rubbish.
So now when I seek a pub,
It must end in lish.
For 7/5 Trochee Contest
A clearing vision fails.
Nothing is what it seems.
Your inheritance, scuffed
lenses, ammonia, sins
of a grandmother’s house.
Of a grandmother’s house
nothing departs unchanged.
Elbows, knees and knuckles
scraped raw by scour-pads,
solvent, sting of scrubbed air.
how the wildflowers thrive
it is Spring
that cheers the stones
plucking daisies
placing on a memory
swept, scrubbed
doused and cleansed
her name was hidden
amidst the wild abandon
snip, snip, pull up roots
careful hands revive
it is Spring
that cheers the stones
and an unrelenting heart
Old Jim Crow was dirty as a coal mine canary.
So, they tossed him into a bucket of suds.
Scrubbed him up and down for decades.
He smelled nicer-looked cleaner for a while.
But the grime wormed its way deep into his insides.
The echo of old Jim Crow never stopped cawing.
Because old Jim Crow never really died.
a stain doused with bleach,
scrubbed with power grout brush
yet stubbornly remains.
confrontation with a mind made up...
a losing battle.
Bitesize Poem No.54 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Line Gauthier
Date written: 10/30/2022
Rex the hermit crab carried a trashed shell
that reeked with a horribly rotten smell.
He intently scrubbed
till his claws were nubbed
then resolved to move into a hotel.
Copyright © 2010 By Caryl S. Muzzey
Sixth Place Winner ~ "Sea Tale Limericks” Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Carolyn Devonshire
March 4, 2010
messages sent and unsent
confessions told and untold
heartbroken- and hearts we both broke
your memories linger around like a ghost
I still see your shadows at my door
scores settled and unsettled, you don't matter anymore
pierce through my heart or stab my back
the tattoos have already been scrubbed off
now you don't beat my drums anymore
Lifeless out of water
Parting a beloved is no less than a curse,
Drowning will not at all fit into a slaughter,
As if emotions scrubbed off the vibrant verse,
Left all alone, the denied love charter,
Lifeless I wish to emerge out of water !
Written Feb 24th, 2015
For contest " Out of water" by Sheri
Awarded 8th place
No one scrubbed the hammock.
Or brushed the cabinet.
Distant like lukewarm cinnamon.
Being an astronaut is a chore.
To look at space gunk?
And you think it’s chilly up there.
Oof.
Nope it’s teetering and croaking.
Gah!
Gaslighting you like a fossilized fudge sundae.
Nothing is messy in outer space.
So they didn’t take the bleach along.
The floor scrubbed raw but still they reflect
Stains from my own mess of stupidity and regret
A contaminant leper for all to see
This holy place I should be forsaken to be
My tainted soul shown through the cracking mirrors
I do not deserve even one of your tears
This corpse is rotting from the inside out
Cries of forgiveness from my mouth so desperately shout
Her hands are what l remember most
Miss the most, crave the most
Hands that scrubbed floors for a living
Hardworking, honest hands
Hands that nurtured, gave comfort, wiped tears
Small hands fingers crooked with arthritis
Hands that held mine a lifetime
Hands l held when death decided
Hands l loved and knew so well
Her hands …..
I love the smell of gasoline,
my senses set off with a match;
Instability ends in explosion,
the aroma lingers all over you;
My senses set off with a match
Revving up my engine hard
the aroma lingers all of you;
Scrubbed you inhale your hands;
Revving up my engine hard;
Instability ends in explosion,
scrubbed you inhale your hands;
I love the smell of gasoline.
She has 50,00 followers,
He has 1,00,00, followers, really,
Yeah but what does it really mean?
Should we give a bean?
Will it ruin many a dream?
With productivity now quite lean,
As we follow someone else's billion-dollar dream,
With our hands always clean,
And minds scrubbed even cleaner,
Oblivious to a world that has just got meaner.
So, yeah that's what it all means!