Short Staples Poems
Short Staples Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Staples by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Staples by length and keyword.
Took a needle and thread, staples and glueMy heart, not quite the same, but it will do
I speak of cash crops, refined
apothecary powders (staples really) bought to
sate, to feed the scarred artery and the
diseased mind, the lover and the slave.
I speak of madness.
Form:
Sugar Frosted Flakes and Trix
Staples of healthy diets
Cocoa Puffs and Cap'n Krunch
My sister said to try it...
Now I'm round as a balloon
My arms and legs stick out
And when I try to take a breath
Sugar cubes come out
C-omposer
L-ets
I-nspiring
V-erse
E-mploy
S-piritual
T-ruth
A-s
P-oetic
L-ines
E-xpress
S-avior's
L-ife
E-ternal
W-ith
I-mportant
S-alvation
Topic: Birthday of poet Clive Staples Lewis (November 29)
Form: Vertical Monocrostic
on food-filled tables
folks display horns of plenty
prayers unspoken. . .
in other homes, souls bow heads -
grateful for life’s mere staples
Oct. 31, 2021
For A Thanksgiving Tanka Poetry Contest
Sponsor: L Milton Hankins
My summer is full of fun
And is always full of sun
It is fun to run and play
And to waste the day away
I like to tell stories by the fire
And hope that the marshmallows won't expire
After, I retire to bed
Very full and fed
I wake up to do it again
And really hope I can
Aaron Blake Staples
The scalpel left a jagged split,
And heavy silver staples but
To bind the edges of the skin,
And lock the sudden ache
within.
Yet through that raw and ruined
seam,
The scar became a pane of
glass,
A rusted lantern in the dark,
The wound took fire from the
spark,
Transforming what was torn and
blind,
Into lens to look behind.
(Dedication: For Ann)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Colours in bloom
Easy breezy bubbles
Happy beyond troubles
Colours find room
Dizzy windy stumble
Cheery beyond fumble
Colours feed boom
Lovely lively rumble
Smiley surely rambles
Colours edge gloom
Savvy sunny staples
Frizzy sappy chuckles
Leon Enriquez
02 October 2014
Singapore
It's time to decorate the house for Christmas see
I got 12 strands of lights
1 Angel for the top
2 Christmas trees
1 inside and 1 outside
1 wreath to hang on the door
0 staples to hang stuff with
12 blinking lights
10 sore fingers
20 presents under the tree
1 santa clause
10 tiny reindeer
and 1 big headache comeing on
time for 4 asprins
Merry Christmas Everyone
There's a hole in my heart
It's where you belong.
You need to be here
But your long gone
Another part missing
I don't know where to start
at fixing these holes
the staples and tape
no longer have a hold
I'm falling again
but not for you
I'm falling for the ignorance
Of giving myself to you
Of letting myself believe
you were different
That instead of letting me fall,
You'd catch me...
Form:
Staples were traveling on the
epiderm, thanking the wounds.
The dust, the eternal ugliness
were growling.
Riveting drama:
a royal swanking for a macabre
heist. A bizarre charisma
overtakes the cozy lips.
I was green,
and I was a cloud
where the sunflowers meet
beneath the sun.
Blind poppies assert themselves
unfurling a flag of milky sap.
The wasps were going-
to become stingless.
Satish Verma
The pages crease and cry when I turn them
and read the words written there, and
I wonder of the person who wrote them
as I admire the fancy scroll within
the faded blue ink of the fountain pen.
There is no binding,
no staples,
nothing to hold the sheets together,
for this is only a draft,
a yellowed pile of memories
gathering dust,
moaning and crinkling
before they fragment
and disappear back into the past.
Third Floor
Reality distraction
staples in the wall of my loneliness
plastered over
to gain permanency
but as a lightweight spackle,
haphazardly poised on the rusty putty knife,
is used to smooth out
the wall
with childlike enjoyment
staples find freedom
flying...
down below someone utters
uninterruptible profanity
Celery
hard times
and they told me those are
the celery sticks cracking
kid
We wave good bye now
Yellow paper hearts
staple gunned to the bulletin board
flapping in the fan breeze
She nods at her work
The chalkboard washed and dried
And with gnashing teeth
One by one those staples pried from their chest board
breaking, tearing the delicate paper-thin poems
One by one they break her hearts
On the desks, the apples molded
Like she did them
From seeds of wisdom she watched
their minds ripen
Remember all that time
I spent writing rhymes
Chasing a dream thats mine
Pulled over and fined
Cause the ride shine
The plan was simple
A straight line rimpled
Heart crippled
Some you cant fix with staples
I hate this i hate you
Fate up for debate
Love locked away
The crate says
Open on a sunny day
Maybe she understand me
Before i fade
My mind made
A choice all the same
Crime of pain end with my gun in your face
There's no greater honor than when friends and family ask me to write. Staples of the heart. Little sticky notes that float by from time to time reminding us of a greater connection that lies within us. Just between us, words stretch our minds as we attempt to pin a phrase on feelings we wouldn't normally say. It's become my way and I thank you for uncovering the silence. From depths that light never touches, love shines radiantly.
Breadfruits like bread to eat from staples
Green,artistic skin bit hard not like apples
Long grown and thick bread fruit trees
Big like stars in all angles broad leaves
Heavy natured,low cost to all as please
Time to time this item in markets released
All fruits ripen tasty but not bread fruit
Some fruits only to cook bread one fruit
Yellow past so taste no waste of this
All wish this dish in seasons not to miss
When the air has a chill,
There are sweatshirts and fleece,
Shawls and sweaters and scarves
To help shivers decrease.
But we shouldn’t forget,
As I’m here to inform,
That a flannel shirt’s best
To keep cozy and warm.
With an endless assortment
Of patterns and plaids,
These are tried-and-true staples,
Not fly-by-night fads.
Now with two new additions
To flannels I own,
I will conquer the shivers
To which I am prone.
Fractured little comic book
cracked along the spine.
Must and mold exhaust you.
Dullness shows the time.
Turn a page for reading
fuzzy art in blocks.
Squares with tiny bubbles
or just a place to talk.
Staples down the middle.
Two through every fold.
Half the book is over
and several stories told.
Flipped upon your back
where ads take all the space.
Toys for boys and girls
and all the dreams we'll chase.
Fractured little comic book.
Thank you for your grace.
Are there Staples in this staple sandwich?
I ask in the ER in the hallway
Where my bed for the night is
Where I need earplugs
To dim the constant sound of my mind
There is no room in this overbooked
Busy mind of mine
Red, blue and yellow thumbtacks, like MnMs
Make dull points, melted into the cookies
As I eat them without pain
Looking down at the plastic box that says
Staple Sandwich
I wonder
Does it really have staples?
I still ate it
Dedicated to Stuart A. Staples
I want to break someone's little finger
In three places
Give me strings on a hollow wooden body
Crumpled suits and apprehension
The warbler, the jongleur
The slur, the trill, the quaver
I can only serenade in that way
Without drop z tuning
Barmonies and mashed taters
Send in the French horn
Alone in the living room
The air conditioner remote
Engrossed and enthralled in the music
The dog watching me
Our fridge is full to bursting –
The food arrived today.
It’s always nice to see so much
Just waiting, on display.
The staples we rely on
Plus, of course, a little splurge –
Today it was a key lime pie
For which I had the urge.
The fruit and veggie bins are stuffed;
The shelves are crammed as well.
We’ve not forgotten anything,
As far as I can tell.
So now we can begin the job,
Which I cannot resist,
Of digging in, until it’s time
For our next shopping list.
Adhesives come in many forms –
There’s glue and tape and paste,
Including some that double-stick,
If you’ve no time to waste.
There also are some methods
Which will help things to adhere
In temporary fashion
So a page won’t disappear…
Such as paper clips and fasteners
And staples, tacks and pins,
Among the tools that many need
Before their work begins.
Still, unless you have an editor,
There is no easy trick
To remind a lazy writer
To his topic he should stick.
My pencil isn’t really mine
Because it says, instead,
That it’s the “Property of
NYC Bd of Ed.”
I taught in New York City schools
And, once I had retired,
There were some school supplies that I
Had suddenly acquired:
Like pens and pencil, post-it-notes,
Some staples, chalk and paper.
It wasn’t quite enough to be
A teacher school-theft caper.
I’ve been retired fifteen years
And no one has come looking.
I suspect my current pencil
Won’t land me in Central Booking.
The comic book in front page cover.
Glossy for it's wonder.
All interest in it's characters
of glory and their thunder.
A comic book to split apart
in seam for pair of staples.
The paper's pulp been harvested
from several standing Maples.
An ink in print to bolded text
you'd sniff for fresher air.
The meaning of a delicate page
you flip through for it's ware.
A story told to light the senses
in visions from another.
A book so thin it simplifies;
there is no any other.