Short Teapots Poems
Short Teapots Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Teapots by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Teapots by length and keyword.
Tonight, tables took teapots
"Lumiere Lights" lit
Pleasantly, people pondered
Plates placed
Across appetites awaiting anxiously
To try the Top Ten
Delicious Dishes
Tea
Teapots talking?
Wow
The harmony in tea conversations
The interruption from a lid lift
And the sweet swirl of the packed bags
Testosterone at one lid passing eleven cups.
Form:
The square teapot designed like a wood stove
Admired by the delicate painted rose teapot
When his water comes to steam in the alcove
Rose sings soprano harmonizing on the spot
Such a friendship cannot be forgot
I saw a Hippopotamus going to the fair,
wearing pink pyjamas with a bow up in his hair,
he was followed by a Zebra who was wearing bright
blue socks,
a Chimp and a Koala bear, wearing matching frocks,
they climbed into the teapots looking quite a sight,
and a little old man spat out his teeth as they gave him quite a fright!
When ladies doll up for fun
Over afternoon tea,
My rosy pots brew of laughter
Cups sipping flavored gabs,
When ladies doll up for fun.
A Prized Refrain Contest of nette onclaud
3 August 2015 , Carly Lalion
No. 2--Teapot
My collection of teapots is growing! The best
one is a set from Grams, 1910 English porcelain
edition.
Red-breasted songsters.
Overt territorials.
Blatantly jealous.
In springtime true battlers.
Nest in cosy teapots.
Eggs beautiful blue.
Gardeners friend, eating bugs.
Gulpping down worms too.
Bursting with songs full of joy.
Lasting from dawn to past dusk.
Unselfish parents feeding young.
Exceptional gardeners friends!
Juggle master kept adding to his shuffle
He is amazing said his cousin Leland Muffle.
Juggling balls, teapots, sandwiches and more.
Almost anything I bring home from the store.
Did he ever juggle guns? I ask. Did he ever juggle a knife?
He juggled a knife once, but he said he’d never do it twice.
He amazes me I said as he juggled cookies and tea cakes.
I wonder if he could juggle a few hoes and garden rakes?
I brew sunsets in teapots
I drink the dawn from a mug
and in my bicycle basket I have seduction in a jug
so now and then I take someone clean shaven home to my obliging bed
when I guess I should sit quietly pristine,
with my legs crossed instead
but each day is so fragile
they black out every evening in the west
and all I got is these frail minutes
and I only want to live them, as if they were a fest.
© Gry W Christensen