Short Worn Poems
Short Worn Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Worn by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Worn by length and keyword.
~Fragile and fatigued I walk worn and weak I stall yet I walk on~
9/20/20
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr © 2020
armed bandits in the doctor’s office
we can spot the ones who have had a lobotomy
Their masks are under their noses and their chins
If the shoe fits wear it, if rules convict declare it put on walking
4/25/18
written words by James Edward Lee Sr.
Copyright © 2018
John Michael Osbourne
looks so tired and worn
when asked to respond
he could only say something no one could understand
I take my shoes off
and roam only in my socks.
All my socks have holes.
the way you act
its a fact
your living in the pass
you lost your class
at one time
you were frim
no longer are you
strem
you like a
WORN
Form:
White lace
and promises;
Already been torn;
Lies of the righteous;
Are now being born;
8/4/19
written by James Edward Lee Sr. 2019©
( is slowly running out of ink [][][]
<[]His pen)……………………………………….….. [][][][][]{
! ( is it the death of an old poet [][][]
!
!
Beard Worn By Priest
Could see his face covered and smeared,
By God with bright and benevolent beard;
Temptation fought;
Attention brought;
To us all would seem strange and weird.
Jim Horn
.
New shoes only best
Italian Loafers_His
Make do__children first
Worn Thin Again
Out each crow seemed to constantly thin,
And the next crowd even had done it again;
Felt out of place,
And fell on face;
After everybody had forgotten to blend in.
Jim Horn
.
Time-worn Barlett Pear
Orange leaves dance with the wind...
Clumsily fruit falls
worn-out dreams and briny tears
hung upon the moon
sorely borne from long-held fears
they lit the night of June
with silvered light of sour notes
that echoed from her soul
and fell as rain to lie in moats
around the life he stole
My mind is all tangled inside.
My body is feeling the pain.
My arms feel limp and numb.
My legs don't want to go on.
My feet are so tired of the walk.
My heart is so worn out.
Finding the strength within, is far to much.
giving up seems the only thing now.
I am horse
Ride saddle 'pon my back
O'er plains of outer space or
O'er wishing grounds
My spit shine for a baker's bet
Wood is shrieker
And father my horse
Lay amongst the wary
And tell the hunter
Who's skin you enter soundly
Tell to him thy name;
Thy name is horse!
her rags worn
heart torn eyes
orals
morals disguise
bruised intentions
beds layed for waste
thoughts
not
to
mention
her rags torn
heart worn eyes
sullen
is
the
mask
worn for sighs
angel hair curling
her rags worn
beauty
born
in
her
heart worn eyes
?
"Holey all over,
seen better days,
worn out and threadbare,
can't mend its ways,
with drink spills, food stains,
rips, rents and tears,
not worth keeping,
a sad state of affairs,
its time has come,
over and done,
that's one bad habit,”
so said the nun.
an old shoe torn worn
leather faded shoe strings tied
hole in the bottom
ragged shoes worn out
running fast trying to flee
bare foot from now on
tattered and worn out
leather faded shoe strings tied
bare foot from now on
3/24/18
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr.2018©
Please cease fire! For God’s sake,
can’t you see there are lives at stake?
A flash of light
brightens the night,
there was silence in the air,
and no time to fear,
the bombs drew closer,
the innocent watches,
eyes shaded,
lives faded,
scarred rubble,
everything gray,
humanity worn away.
WE WORN A RACE
Sited around the fading fire
With broken wills and glowing shame
They walk the darkness
Burden with stiffened hopes
They trudge ahead
With a shorten vision
They soon lost the sun
With no dazzling rays
And no mingling heat
They settled in a long struggle
Amidst so much trouble
They miss the days’ future
‘Tis next to nothing, or so they say,
tomorrow is another day
Or something akin to this worn cliché,
when time allows no other way
Do your best to keep the hounds at bay,
until every man has his say, [and]
Beware the follies of festive and gay,
the piper you must surely pay.
Written September 20, 2022
Hs worn hands, they tell a story --
The furrows where his trusty saw rested
The closed wounds from rusty nails
The bent fingers from flinty hammer blows
The swollen redness from carrying metal pails
Once soft and smooth, now creased and hard
His hands may well be old and worn
~ Yet his conscience remains unscarred
like leering torrent
seeped'n saucy vest
wielded waves worn
tuning traces torn
voluptuous surges shrunk
cupping callous lust
hoisted horizon's spell
bewitching bounty pleck
fostering felon dread
winter's call whooshes
tuning tactic traces
through ocean's capillaries
same spell knit
my fostered feelings.
'20:02:12:15:56
O Lord,
'Tis a decade gone
Since thy curse fell upon us.
The malnourished children are no more,
The poor soil lieth barren.
Lord, what hast thou wrought upon our village?
Mine only companions be the flies and the toads.
Thy shadow resteth beside mine empty grave.
I am not wroth with thee,
Yet surely have I all the right to be so.
A WAR-WORN FLASHBACK
As quiet
As it’s kept,
Wars continue
To win,
As peace
Likewise,
Continue
To lose:-
In war
Only death
Wins:
Dying peace
Loosing
As parentless
Children
Daily feed
Death—
Satisfying war’s
Wealth-Inspired hunger:-
Yet, we seem to
Continue to be
As unconcerned
As are the fires
Burning in hell:-