Short Troll Poems
Short Troll Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Troll by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Troll by length and keyword.
Wispy hair blew as he lied and took stands
Carried his giant ego through all the lands
This little orange troll
Hauled all of that bull
How did he hold on with such tiny hands?
she rebuffed his advances
he was more determined now
a horrible troll, a stalker, a misogamist
who thought what he wanted was of utmost importance
no matter who he had to violate, hurt, or abuse.
Subject and Object,
who builds the bridge
From either perspective,
to laud or forgive
First person invective,
third person retort
The toll for each crossing
—forever deports
(Villanova Pennsylvania: September, 2020)
A troll
A startling encounter
With a mysterious
Personage merged in
A natural setting..
You as a troll merged
With rocks and sky
And a slight smile
A knowing smile
Of the unknowing of
What seems coming
And going...
slathering and slithering
sharp tiny teeth,
short and squat
troll
You smile and he glares
trying to look fierce
You laugh and he bites
your foot
sneaky as a snake
and twice as mean
The only garden
danger that
makes my
blood run cold.
gnarly snarly wharly harly barley troll
when we use his path, he demands a toll
When we protest, he hangs us upside down
The villagers come by and call us clown
gnarly snarly wharly harly barley troll
Humiliating us kids is his ultimate goal
He is good at it, an expert in fact; I know.
He has hung me twice by my largest toe.
Troll me Once
Fool me
Troll me Twice
Pity the Fool
Where you bullied at School
Such is your worth
Is yours to curse
What you ain't
You cannot paint
Nor write
For jealousy and spite
Your bark is worse than your bite
Goodnight
Aspire to better erudite
I call your bluff
Your words are not tough
Hope thief consumed by grief
A vicious kind of beast,
Upon the vulnerable they feast,
Evil in everything they say
To ruin everybody’s day.
Cowardice is their type
As they feed on all the hype,
These sadistic vultures type away
To ruin everybody’s day.
The lowest of the low,
No lower can you go,
Than the trolls who stalk their prey
To ruin everybody’s day!!
My life is a sculpture made of clay,
Molded of the trials and triumphs of the day.
Break of dawn, shake the shingles and free,
Come dusk I'm cut into this statue and sleep.
Sunlight hits and clay cracks open,
Breathing the sounds and light seeps in.
Sunset, dusk is here - back in the mold.
No more light, frozen in time - the opposite troll.
scrolling
trolling
clicking
tricking
to cheat
deceit
snitches
glitches
lame game
for fame
peeving
thieving
maybe
they’ll see
jester
fester
traitor
baiter
drama
mama
dressed in
satin
green grime
cold crime
loner
moaner
He is my good luck troll my grandma said.
If you want good luck, just rub his head.
She’s lost three sisters and a brother.
No thank you said my wise young mother.
Go on and give him a rub, grandma said.
He will like it, look, he’s leaning his little head.
She had been through eight disasters, plenty.
With luck like that, I do not want any.
The troll did not care
He was miserable
And glad of it
It had become his normal
His misery fed off of itself
Worms of destruction tried to shake him
He would not relent
He was comfortable in his stymied state
No one tried to speak to him
They left him in the forest
Where he petrified
Terrorizing those who stumbled upon him in the dark
He is despised by many
But he seeks the love of any
He sits pleading for a penny
But she does not help no,not Amy
He is mocked for his features
But he paints better pictures
He loves the wrong in all creatures
As he nullifies war's fixtures
He soars above the rest
As he builds love's nest
In his world no one is a pest
As this beauty is put to test
in the graveyard on Halloween night
you are apt to see a scary sight
this evening a graveyard troll came by
he walked right past me and gave a “hi”.
It’s not Halloween, I thought, not feeling brave.
Where had he come from? was it that grave?
I said hi, he said, giving me a weird lopsided evil look.
I screamed, ran down the hill and fell into a cold wet brook.
Little Troll
a little troll i said to she,
that is your friend, at work she be,
and then the dollars missing went,
and down the shop she went and spent,
ole johnson said it, see,
the nursing home cast her free,
and there was no dissent,
cept the Troll, she wanted a wee,
beware some Trolls are bent....
Don Johnson
Re: The Trouble With Trolls
Debbie Duncan
Legend of Copenhagen says tree troll is a tale.
He is a wooden giant who drank way too much ale
This tall tale was fed to me by gullible cousin Gale.
Who also heard that tree troll devoured greens and kale.
We searched for this rascal over many hills and dale,
His infectious story was spreading fast without fail
Every version that came back to me was fun, never stale.
Pricklescoff sits at a Moses Toe
where two rivers meet
where two rivers flow
with one from his left
and one from his right
as he, a troll, sits at the point
where two rivers meet
on into the night
and see all the fish
stickleback, minnow
swim as he sits
at the Moses Toe
Based on the novella Where Two Rivers Meet, A Dark Romance Fantasy by Clive Culverhouse
The wee little troll
He licked my arm
I really don't think
He meant any harm
Vulgar and disgusting
In his piggish ways
He moves very slowly
And begins to play
In his pointy shoes
He runs and frolics
Falls on his face
Wrinkles his nose
Decides to sit down
And begin to show
How he can behave
To receive his treat
Which is a nice rub
To his wee, little, feet
Elk troll man slithers out of the crevices of the cave
the evening feels his emotions and responds accordingly
Slinking along the corridor of red canyon’s edges
We wise ones ignore him, for it is his fervent wish to be invisible
Sure, we see him but none of us speak of it, our tongues silent
Respecting his wishes, and fearing Elk troll man’s wrath
his lightning reflexes to be feared
Troll head house with her flower decorated hair
looks like a place you would enter on a dare.
It is a troll; her name is Miss Claire.
You’ll drop into a tunnel in her sweet little lair.
It will be fun; there is Charley, a nice polar bear.
His wife is Charlene, she will give you a dare.
Do not be provoked or tricked into teasing Miss Claire.
She is ready to turn the next person into a grizzly bear.
Hunchbacked in a room, typing electric spells of doom,
breathing out fire, an alchemy of pain, suffering and desire.
Filtered beauty but oh, beneath, lies green skin and poisonous teeth,
with claws replaced by keyboard, where online posts replicate sword.
Eyes glassy, red with ire and fatigue; hate is sport, pole position in the league:
a troll swallowing prey in gigabytes whole; their innocence lost, our youth stole.
Old King Troll
Had a very long pole
And a very long pole had he
He called for his wife (she’s his trouble and strife)
And he called for his mistresses three
King Troll sat in the middle … his wife said you’re on the fiddle
This fact King Troll couldn’t deny
All the women took a swipe at him and gave him a black eye!
Alexis challenged me to do a parody of Old King Cole nursery rhyme
10~03~16
The worst part is waking up
With wispy, fleeting, figments of anxious dream
Looking at the clock and realizing
It doesn’t matter what time it is anymore
Then there’s the coffee
It tastes so good, but no longer has allure
Then mindless counsel with my laptop
To free my mind and replace the sad fog
That doesn’t leave, but dances, taunting
Into deep dark corners
Where it can continue throughout the day
To bug even the simple code
Furzy the forest troll was stealthy, steady and shy
No one knew much about this stay-to-myself guy
His trips to the forest were made if no humans were around
Hours later his enormous footprints might be sometimes found
Furzy did not speak with the birds, fish, mammals or fey
If he sensed another large creature, he stayed away
His shyness was an asset that helped him to move without sound
Sometimes he pretends he is a bush, rolled up on the ground.
I can’t reveal what I really feel
as I troll through Goodreads and Book!
Here’s a nice face, in this social space,
but smarts is much better than look.
Not ready for any, and there are so many,
and I enjoy speculating and dream,
that an older bookworm, with a heart warm
will think I’m as nice as I seem.
I seldom reach out, so filled with deep doubt,
to any potential cute reader,
though once in a while, a comment I’ll style,
but I’ll hide before I ever meet her.