Short Sores Poems

Introvert
Saves sores in heart
Very skeptical of being hurt...

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Savage

Hurtful

Igneous

Nefarious

Grevous

Languishing

Enveloping

Sores...

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sense-ore scents
or
sense-oar sense
soars

censors scent-sore sense
or
censors cent-sore sense
sores 

stan sand...

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Travels with the largest delegation 

Ever to leave these shores

Globe-trotting is his passion

Yet itching are the taxpayers’ sores!...

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They never knew how much I cared
I let their kisses sink into my pores
letting them in resulted in many sores
Now I'm just a little girl running away scared...

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Her eyes drip down scorn
Like pus from running sores
Every word edged and barbed
To rip and rend and tear
She lives to laugh at suffering
But oh she has such pretty hair...

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Mama’s magnet makes her a loving witch
on such a grown ass, so much comfort stitch
childhood, a long loop
warm but a sour soup
sores of age burst for good senses to itch....

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Our politicians to be told what for
Why they continue to take us to war
     Is it for the oil and ores
     To continue earth sores
Or for conglomerate greed galore...

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Gangrenous decay
Hideous creeping movements
Odour of rotting flesh
Ulcerated weeping sores
Longing for meat from the grave

Jack Horne for Russell's Challenge contest, 8th October...

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stolen boots scratch mugs
mobile hinder beach lost pebbles
violin rehearsal picnic crew
colon usage witch fumble
joyous creature strikes
glasses open sores delve
blocks weave shuttle cock...

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Maria, oh Maria, wherefore art thou
Be sworn my love, my passion sores(?) like a swallow
Very poetic eh?
Amazing you say?
Received the OBE, sent is back coz in awards I wallow...

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I AM SO ALIVE,,,,RIGHT NOW
IN TWO WORLDS,,,,RIGHT NOW
NO BOILS NO SORES
JUST SUN AND FUN
NO PAIN JUST GAIN
A SONG,,,,RIGHT NOW
NOTHING'S WRONG,,,,RIGHT NOW
    (c)....CATHERINE BUCHNER 2012...

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Heard of this local filly named Jiggles Galore
Some of the local townsfolk called her a whore
Twas not very nice
Some partook in her vice
And rode giddy up until they got sores...

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When all is dark
And chirps turn to snores
Night has come
And it is time for sores.

Night is day to my foe
Braying all night like a doe
When I rest from the sow
Sleeping gently like a dove....

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the lawns are strewn in paradise
roses stained, unsweetened
beauty is bleeding
can we lick these festering sores?

my days are alchemy
as I exhaust to turn a gold
and paradise is falling


...

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Laying at night
excited to dream
vivid expression 
unconscious thought
my heart sores 
my body quivers
wake to a smile
fills my day
Laying at night
excited to dream
its the only place I can be me...

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There’s a bug with tiny little jaws
They bite and leave you with sores
They bite you by night
When you sleeping tight
Not the bed bugs but my in-laws




*Are You Bugged? (Limericks) Poetry Contest*...

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poetry scents a:
sensor
no sensor
sense or
no sense or
sense soar
no sense soar
sense sore
no sense sore
sense ore
no sense ore

but

scent sore
censors
send sore
sense or
no sense ore


stan sand...

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Belligerent; demanding more 
Egotistical persona; hard core
Treasonous painful open sores 
Rectifying actions; what for 
Arrogant unsympathetic rapport
Yesterday; same as before
Asinine unit of corps 
Loyalty non-existent decor...

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Birds of similar feather 
conspire together
when sores of society 
open chaotic doors.
A boiling abscess 
provides easy access.
Statesmen must team up 
before angry masses teem
and cross the threshold of justice. 

Jan 11, 2021...

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He spends one more day in his bed.
To-do-lists run all ‘round his head.
Noon came and then passed,
he’s still on his ass.
A hard day of work, he most dreads!


“If man had created man, he’d be ashamed of his performance.” – Mark Twain...

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To all the broken hearted...

I closed my wet eyes
you appeared beside my bed
The wind slammed the door!


Rahy 
May 27-2016

In life there are certain sores which, like  Leprosy, slowly erode your soul in solitude. 

Sadegh Hedayat...

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My Grandpa was a craftsman.
  He would measure all the wood,
 with poor eyesight, best he could.
He would make the cabinets and drawers,
 even when his old hands had sores!
    My Grandpa was a craftsman.        
 

     Copyright McCuen 2009...

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Spring
Splendid, sublime
Stimulating, scintillating, soothing
Sunshine, snowdrop, Sunburn, sweat-sores 
Sizzling, sweating, sweltering
Sticky, sultry
Summer

04/25/2021
Spring or Summer Diamante Poem Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Caren Krutsinger |...

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That ulcer
in his 
consciousness
bleeding
to be heard
A canker
of a 
muted past
abscessing
every word

Cold sores
of detention
that fade
but never
cure
A virus
of his 
hopes and dreams
recurring
— untoward

(Septa R5 Train: May, 2024)
...

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