Short Stash Poems
Short Stash Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Stash by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Stash by length and keyword.
computer mouse gone
the puppy is contrite
hangs head with guilt
remote is missing
Buddy avoids our eyes
secret stash somewhere
He finds a stash of cash
Then covers it in a flash
He moved it quick
Because he’d learn a new trick
To make his stash cash look like trash
Leprechaun Stash
There once was a man so small.
He hid gold summer and fall.
In a pot it did go.
Nobody he’d show.
For fear he would lose it all.
In my yard a hole
surrounded by blueberries
what creatures are they
who hoard the tasty baubles
ah I see guilty chipmunks!
An old crone who was living in Moffett
Sold all her household wares for a profit
She was simply bold,
[At least I am told],
To stash all the money in her soffit.
It's not a matter of how much we have
We always want more, much more to stash
To live the good life
With minimum strife
It's all about how much, like how much cash
Winter supply of firewood stashed.
A neat pile stored in the basement
A testament to hard work.
The smell of mushrooms lingers.
We're ready for cold weather.
AP: 2nd place 2026
A mug of steaming tea
Piping hot, so warm
The perfect remedy
For a winter storm
Or a cold and rainy day
Like it is today
A cup of brew
And thoughts of you
Take all the chill away
I seen it in the pale blue dawn
rousing....chocked full of diligence
silent running wisdom bliss
monsters seen with seldom fist
Zenith prized this heroin kiss
Shooting heat in cooker piss
Guilty
Guilty
Guilty
Guilty
Our daily life and its trash,
Our shadows and secrets in a stash,
One day we'll be ancient lives,
Not strictly business, once did thrive,
All lost in the translation
to trash, our sacred institutions,
The mixed views of the robots,
For humans, they'll have soft spots,
All our shadows in a stash,
Secrets of daily life in trash!
Why do you still chat
With that Common Rats?
As blind as A Bat;
A Gathering Fat?
Yes, I’m dead upset
And for Bad Fight set.
Would for A Gossip
Who lets his lips slip
Where had Poor Chloe stashed
The money she cashed
That could widen eyes
And trigger Wish Cries…
I know A Callow:
At theft who’s shallow;
The idea A Brow
Would never allow.
Before the painters came, I pulled
Each picture from the wall
And stashed them every place I could,
Most anywhere at all.
And now the painting’s finished
So I’m searching high and low
For where I put some things away -
I honestly don’t know.
Exhaustion’s gotten in the way –
I’m calling it a night.
Tomorrow when I fish around,
I hope to get a bite.