Short Tatty Poems
Short Tatty Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Tatty by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Tatty by length and keyword.
bland, tatty, old vase
no monetary value
mantel’s pride of place
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(C) John C Michaels, March 2017
a roaming angel
in scruffy, tatty old shirt
searching for the star
Copyright2016Leonora Galinta
All Rights Reserved
May 13, 2015 6.15pm
My scribbles scrammbled on a tatty bit of paper
I vomit ideas
Before they vapour
They appear inedible mountains of mess
I churn and turn the illegible scribbles to words that truly bless
I am a dyslexic writer - Published Poem in Forgotten Letters
Laundry Room
The central activity in
the laundry room isn’t the action of
washing and
drying my tatty, smelly clothes, it’s
the Daily Redback Spider Race.
Also, the laundry basket leaks
gas. The linen cabinet doors in
the laundry sometimes turn the
dazzling colour of a
butterfly.
Comfortable Slippers.
.
True love
Gifted from above
Maybe compared
To a pair of slippers
.
They go together
But don’t quite fit
Have room to grow a bit
.
They may get worn old
And tatty over time
Treading through sunshine
And the cold
But they remain comfortable
And too good to throw away
Best kept as a pair.
.
Peter Dome©2020.
Form:
To ward off those germs from afar
I’m using a tatty old bra
It can’t be a task
To make a face mask
I’ll model it like a film star!
But sewing skills, none to be had -
My home made mask looks very bad
No way does it fit
I look a right tit
My husband won’t wear his, I’m glad!
Limerick Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Janice Canerdy
04/27/20
I hide here at the back
Not the last page, but nearly so
The thick leathery binding which protects me
Is starting to fray and the letters fade
I'm safe up here on the top shelf
And none but the keenest would
Peer beneath this tired, tatty shell
But maybe they would appreciate...
For so many years I have remained unread
I almost fear the moment
When daylight comes
And at last I can sing
I have held my last pot of hot soup
I've come to the end of my threads
Befraggled and muffed
Bedraggled and fruffed
A raddled cloth corpse that's dead
Frayed so soft and shabby
As the cotton boll that bore me
Worn to a frazzle
I have lost all my dazzle
Faded and haggard and tatty
So tattered in my casing
My splayed stuffing is facing
The dog who has chewed
What was left!
May 11, 2020
The Potholder Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Craig Cornish
My brother has just got inked,
with style - he's quite a dude
in this we are somewhat linked
as I am also tattooed.
neck and ankle, inked up twice
displaying them with class
though mine is not quite as nice
as it's placed upon my ****!
two Xs,and two chevrons
daughters and direction
as opposed to a gurt pig
my rugby club connection
all worn with pride and passion
suiting one another
each of them our own fashion
for us - me and my brother.
Creeping strands of ivy intensifies the gloom
of this once beautiful elegant drawing room
A faded dressing screen, a tatty salon chair
since my Grand Papa’s died I’m now the heir
Yet, when I look deep beyond the peeling walls
I can hear melodies from past summer balls
My aim’s to bring it back to its former glory
so my own family will be part of its history
Photograph 3 used
Free Verse or Rhyme Contest
Contest Sponsor Eve Roper
9/8/19
This lonely life of the scarecrow man,
Rewards are few, but I do what I can,
I’m losing straw, where I’ve lost a stich,
Me arms are aching and me nose does itch,
The cold, cold snow gives me frostbite,
The hours are long, and it’s lonely at night,
The heavy rain soaks me to the straw,
While the noisy crows just caw, caw, caw,
Not much to do but count the corn,
Sometimes I feel that life’s forlorn,
Me clothes all tatty and I look a slob,
But at least I’m lucky; I’ve got a job!