Short Smidge Poems
Short Smidge Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Smidge by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Smidge by length and keyword.
Just give me a smidge
A speck
A tiny little bit ...
All I'm asking for is some sign
Some chance
Some hope ...
That even just a small piece
Will save us
From ourselves.
(Number 5)
Smiles rise over the ridge.
Courts creek, a childhood dream.
Commonsense, not even a smidge.
Barefoot on boulders, eyes agleam.
Staggering sight of matchstick bridge.
Lonely elf not 5’4, horny toad toon
Hits on maties wives in pubs and saloons
a smidge taller than Manson
yet not quite as handsome
His gal pal elves nudge him to G-E-T -A -R-O-O-M!
Not a smidge of chocolate in his kiss
still its sweet as honey, full of bliss
His heart has a beat that I can't miss
it tick tocks in me and I can't dismiss
the memory of His nuzzle kiss...
He has you sit there and wait ~
it's not the first time,
it won't be the last.
You know and accept it ~
those many ways he lets you know
his time's infinitely more valuable.
In the meantime you sit there patiently.
AP: Honorable Mention 2026
Stashu kitty hear our words
Follow the light, chase the birds
Run across the rainbow bridge
And daddy & I'll be there in a smidge
Clean Dos's ears and Apples nose
Now it's time for me to close
Wait on me dear friend of mine
I'll be there right on time.
DINNER’S A CHORE
Dinner, my turn, nothing in the fridge
Off to market, be gone a smidge
Car won’t start, battery’s dead
Jump it, full steam ahead
Old gossips in the aisle, won’t move aside
‘Scuse me’ I croon, but they get snide
Right back I get crass
Suggest they kiss my ass
A Privilege Trump Has Is Pure Sacrilege
What I say about Trump's each privilege,
Is that to me they sure are pure sacrilege;
Wants to be annointed,
Even though disjointed;
What is left of his brain is only a smidge.
Jim Horn
So what next will Trump say or do to cause
everyone to freak out?
Little stray dog
Lost in the fog
All skin and bone
Where is your home?
Got no pet-food
(YOU ain't no prude!)
Just want a smidge
Let's look in the fridge...
Scarf down sweet-pickles?
(The starvin' ain't fickle!)
Raisin bran gone
Still here at dawn...
LORD, you gettin' fat
As a lazy house-cat
But you're just a loaner
('Til I find your true owner)
Leaves of August glisten from the rain
I notice a tinge of color across the ridge
The leaves need moisture to sustain
Leaves of August glisten from the rain
‘Til late mid-October they must remain
Over the ridge, understand, just a smidge
Leaves of August glisten from the rain
I notice a tinge of color across the ridge.
Written August 6, 2022
The traffic flows across the bridge
Without me even knowing
About the drivers, not a smidge,
Or where the heck they’re going.
The same applies to passersby,
A flock of strangers streaming,
Who stroll or jog or scoot, while I,
Upon my bench, sit dreaming.
The city holds one’s secrets close,
Which many find appealing,
Though some succumb and overdose
On all of that concealing.
Polish potato pancakes
My clan’s tradition
Peel, grate, soften in water
Add eggs, onions, salt
A smidge of flour
Fry in oil
Wow!
*I am truly thankful for everything my grandparents did for me as a child. Learning to cook ethnic foods is just one of many blessings they bestowed upon me.
*Entry for Gwen and Tony's Thanksgiving Dinner Epulaeryu contest
The couch is off-limits.
(Today it's a bridge.)
My feeling aren't hurt.
(Okay, maybe a smidge.)
For when Henry is building,
The world must concede
To the object and spaces
His projects might need.
He's lucky his house has
Some couches to spare
And if they're all bridges,
There's always a chair.
At least he's absorbed in
His "building" at home,
Which leaves me some moments
To whip up a poem.
Grace once took me by the throat
And squeezed until I gave up Pride,
But Pride remained still unprovoked
As will began to slowly die
So faith stepped up and begged for hope
But hope preferred unstable waters,
Which brought despair on noose and rope
And silenced all I had that mattered
Yet faith prevailed, though by a smidge
As small and simple took the win,
For little triumphs made me rich
And progress I did find therein
They put up a sign on the highway
Which pointed the way to a bridge,
Replacing the prior one, thinking
Perhaps it improved things a smidge.
But yikes! No one bothered to proofread;
The name of the bridge was misspelled.
If I were the person in charge, well,
They’d censor the words I’d have yelled.
It boggles the mind to imagine
How something so stupid occurred.
A double-check would have made certain
Such nonsense would have been deterred.
When I need ice, I fill the trays
With water, by myself,
And place them in the freezer
On the left side of the shelf.
When frozen, I remove the cubes
And fill a Ziploc bag
So they will be there waiting
When a drink I want to snag.
I do not need an automatic
Feature on the fridge
To make my ice, improving life
By just a little smidge.
Some modern day conveniences
Are things we just don’t need
But so many think from drudgery
Such short-cuts keep us freed.
I made the dough and let it set
For hours in the fridge,
Then rolled it out and cut the shapes
And added just a smidge
Of colored sugar on the tops.
Then while one batch was baking,
I started on another,
An enormous undertaking.
In fact, as time ticked by I felt
Exhausted; you may laugh
Because I had four balls of dough,
But only finished half.
My stopping in the middle really
Wasn’t a mistake,
For baking when you’re older means
You’ve gotta take a break!
I may be 5 foot 9 but by the time
I have to reach over my middle tire
A skinny person of let’s say 5 feet
might reach things a couple inches higher
Those tricky top shelves are strictly for things
I know that I’m never going to need
Like huckleberry jam, rice vinegar,
brown paper lunch bags and caraway seed
When searching through the kitchen cabinets
I find that I’m too short by just a smidge
So I have no idea what’s hiding in
that little cabinet over the fridge
< dances around a rings fire
mounts horse returns for ones desire
echo's linger from canyon's ridge
navajo commanche just smidge
forbidden love from chief's higher
This Was Written by Katherine Stella
Entry For Brian Strand's 5 Line Contest
This Is Written In A Spanish Quintain
GL All
worthwhile painters of sunsets tackled this romantic sky
turtles do not look up often, and their eyes are fuzzy
they might miss the colors, but they feel the richness of the day
turtle cave, a sanctuary for turtles in many sizes.
I stay my distance, photographing them with telescopic lenses.
my artist eyes take another peek at the fascinating pastel sky.
I return home with a plethora of photos, of the sunset.
each one a smidge different than the last; no one else sees it.