Short Stale Poems
Short Stale Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Stale by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Stale by length and keyword.
Stale the ale
Rancid the memories
in my pail
Bruises, injections
bloody reflections
A life thrown away
no more to say
Daring to open the windows.
Letting in a first sprightly spring breeze.
The beauty of curtains billowing.
Wordku: 5-7-5 words
AP: Honorable Mention 2026
When we were young,
New lovers discovering,
Hot flesh sliding,
It was fresh.
But now memories of before,
Stale and settled,
Cloud my lungs and each breath seems stifled
Loneliness is a stale donut
Forgotten and left in box
For how many days now?
How many days!
Takes as self-pity
Eating the donut it tastes like pain
And sickness rising in my throat
For I remain and the box I throw out
Don't let life go stale
Don't let it become mundane
Change it up and up your game
Turn it around
And be spontaneous when you can
Seize opportunities
Act a bit crazy
I won't let normality phase me
I am going to find away to change things.
Under the wind
of an electric fan
the old balladeer sounds
like a tired man,
blinks his bleary eyes
as fast as he can;
breath reeks of nicotine
and of stale rum,
crooning his song
with a gravelly hum,
the captive audience gossips
and chews gum!
mind is roaming,
brain is foaming.
energy overload,
frog is turning to a toad.
work again tomorrow,
need money that i could borrow.
plant a seed and grow a tree
now i have some fruit for free.
it's now time for me to sleep
i pray i'm not the devil's to keep.
Finally, my blood began to coagulate.
Disoriented; from all that’s bleeding through.
Trying to grasp the hand of my soulmate;
I notice a heart that’s receding too.
And now, one heart beats where there once were two.
In life or death I see no love that’s true.
Beat of the heart showed no rhyme;
vibrating without some sense.
Its voice sounds like a cold clime;
saying statement sans intense.
Note: This form is called Tanaga, a traditional short Filipino poem which is only a quatrain, having 7 syllables in each line. The rhyming schemes may be aaaa, aabb, abab or abba.
Dismay that I am so blithely uncouth
As to bluntly say what is on my mind,
So, I shall blame the stale vermouth.
Dismay that I am so bitterly uncouth
To go through life with this sad truth,
It is necessary, I admit, for me to find
Dismay that I am so blithely uncouth,
As to bluntly say what is on my mind.
written October 15, 2021
Joints and tendons ache
Water works partly block
Teeth; gums you forsake
In the mix, the odd rock
Nobody prepares you
Suddenly, the decline
Friends not foes, few
You want to only recline
Like yesterday's news
You are now quite stale
Worth very few views
Repeating a woeful tale
Your pals drop dead
On goes the count
Next obit to be read?
As health events mount
My knees held tightly to my chest,
I thought the storm clouds were miles off in the distance,
Of someone else's distress.
But morning came, and the storm remained.
No water nor washing could wipe away the stains of sorrows
And restlessness from my covers-
My detrimental haven...
I could rot away here, the irony being I already do.
What treasures can shake me from my trance?
Little seems to speak to me anymore-
I have become stale.
The first door I believed in boasted of the things it had, and I didn't.
The second one only wanted to show me how much time I had spent in a Polaroid.
Another door was nice to me but the nuts were badly screwed.
The bravest move was taking a chance on each door.
That any one of them could have been it.
And every door was knocked.
The next door might welcome me with the brightest smile.
But I just might have been the only one there to knock.
Hello
Something you must know
I once loved you in a way misunderstood by the social and the loquacious
If there was a way to tell you today,
I would push myself forward and not stray or sway
However happiness has given me the `I told you so` look yet again
Loners and misanthropes like me will never ever win
As I drink my green tea ginger ale all blue watching the befallen wind blow,
All I have left in my ruined arsenal is the occasional, simple....Hello....
A stale fruit cake someone gave us.
That cake was less than fabulous.
‘Twas full of nuts and very thick.
Whoever ate that thing got sick.
It tasted so bad, I could cuss.
An esoteric recipe
of a relative we don’t see.
Were they seeking revenge on us?
A stale fruit cake.
If another one they render,
we’ll mark it “return to sender”.
I won’t touch it with a long stick.
That was not a treat, but a trick.
Like concrete; not at all tender.
A stale fruit cake.
It’s raining outside
and I feel content
to just sit on the porch
and watch a squirrel
snag a slice of pizza
from a trash can
The weight is too great
and it falls in
but this is one determined squirrel
A Moliére tale
about a piece of string
intersects my thought
but that’s arbitrary
after a few tumbles
and false starts;
the squirrel gets the pizza
out of the trash can.
It did seem like
a lot of work
for a stale slice of pizza
but who am I to judge?
Stale as the wind was, so was my soul,
unveiling my poor essence for crumbs-
Forgetting I was lost at sea…
when you came and abandoned me.
Encompassed by sin without forgiveness,
feeling all the shame of loss and regret-
Forgetting we were meant to be…
when you came and abandoned me.
I saw you standing there with the
stale wind blowing through your hair-
Forgetting how I longed to be free…
when you came and abandoned me.
March 14, 2019