Short Tooled Poems
Short Tooled Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Tooled by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Tooled by length and keyword.
The mind is a powerful tool.
Tooled by the soul we use.
Good or bad the soul we have.
Is power by our minds.
Emotions gone mad.
a solivagant by nature
the need for acceptance grew
hot tears pooled
a phenomenal resilience
affording solace to others
impressive psyche tooled
esperance is the driving force
behind your enigmatic smile
in hiding betrayal you’re well schooled
artificial smarts
are nonliving intellect
with specific goals
just programmed logic
with limited rationale
that cannot shut off
to think abstract thoughts
as the context of content
ai's a tooled toy
an arts-official
engineered dreams for control
...
ai can't grow up
stan sand
They escape
Through a small opening
On the side of my head
Liquid skin becoming cellophane
An accessory to suffocation
Tries to trim the threats
Of an unfurled canvas
In my pocket
Artauds’ anguish
Stitches together absurd reasoning
One kiss tooled the empire
Only the smart escape
Einstein’s brain was more complicated than any Swiss army knife.
A pathologist took it from his cranium creating its’ ignominious afterlife.
He confined it in a formalin filled Tupperware tub that stunk
then tooled around America with it in his Buick Skylark trunk.
True story; check out the synopsis of the book (I’ve read it) called “Driving Mr. Albert” by Michael Paterniti on Amazon.com.
The problem of nation is that it's situation is the solution to the nation,
The competition of the economy is under develop
The graved compression is the comprehension decent to the inflation,
The police have power to liberation but corruption tooled over them,
The government have limitations but have no innovation,
The people declared socialisation but there is no imitation,
So want can the public do that's my question?,
The poem is entitled question
He was a lonesome cowboy, with boots of fine-tooled hide,
His quarter horse a stallion, his trusty faithful ride,
Each evening when the sunset and the doggies settled down,
He made a pot of coffee and laid his poor head down
He'd think about the morning, the cattle drive so hard, and
How the dust and devil’s heat, would steal his dried up heart,
And if you saw him coming, you’d know him from the start,
He’d be the lonesome cowboy, laid on coffin’s cart
Tooled up, the army chaplain
Is wielding the words of God
Straight in for the kill
With ‘The work of His will’
And ‘He came not with peace but the rod’
The sixth commandment is tricky
A most inconvenient law
For the turn of a cheek
On the battle field bleak
Is far from conducive to war
So, pity the army chaplain
And the conflict that rages within
As the ranks of the dead
Tramp a march through his head
And he murders his conscience with gin
by Gail
An awe of cavernous heartbeats
turned her features equine.
Listening to wind-hollowed chests,
she heard the shape of her life,
the blowing of tubular organs
elongating her face,
into sculptured snorts.
I liked her snagged toothiness.
the linkage of her broad scapulars,
deeply tooled and studded,
a back ready to be saddled by labor,
hitched to days of hay and manure.
When she laughed, hooves stomped
into green rubber
a ponytail swinging from her grey mane.
An awe of cavernous heartbeats
turned her features equine.
Listening to wind-hollowed chests,
she heard the shape of her life,
the blowing of tubular organs
elongating her face,
into sculptured snorts.
I liked her snagged toothiness.
the linkage of her broad scapulars,
deeply tooled and studded,
a back ready to be saddled by labor,
hitched to days of hay and manure.
When she laughed, hooves stomped
into green rubber
a ponytail swinging from her grey mane.