Smidgen Poems | Examples

Try Not to Laugh at This

    Consider the pigeon
        It’s been itchin’
        for a smidgen
           of recognition

      So it started
      a bird-feed kitchen

     That no bird die
         of malnutrition

Toss a Smidgen

Toss a smidgen
To a pigeon
And you know he’ll eat it,
Though once fed
A crumb of bread,
You can’t get him to beat it.

Still, what’s worse
And worth a curse
Are seagulls if you’re snacking,
For I’ve found
When food’s around,
They sometimes try attacking.

My advice –
You’ll pay the price
By tempting those with feathers,
For they know
Where humans go,
There’s food in any weathers.

The Person I Used to Be

I used to be a little different from how I am today,
especially in some beliefs and things I’d do or say.

My mother was (and still is) fanatical; there was no true religion
except for ours; I lived without her zeal – having but a smidgen.

I had no testimony to match my mom’s though half my life I tried
to practice my religion, till one day I put my church aside.

I never had been able to accept some doctrines that for me 
seemed senseless. So with no apology,  I live now religion-free.

I know God lives; God’s grace and love are all. I know this because
I feel it deep inside. The person that I used to be I never truly was.

Doppler Vision, A Compounded Riddle

Dreams, do we imagine!?
or imagined for us?~ not really ours
man’s daily/nightly flighty escapes – 

perhaps mystically inspired? Projections of a
superior curtain-wizard: His/its contrived illusions,

erudite brothers propose, the mind 
a carnival trickster -- a phenomenal liar: such illumination
just mental, painted flame, no spark of true spiritual fire,

myself least fond of, the notion before the thinker...
the drink making thirsty the drinker -- 
like the egg and the chicken, the shell or the cluck 
prayer answered or declined 
and not a smidgen of exciting, wagering blind-luck --

A Smidgen

Give a pigeon just a smidgen
And his friends will flock to share
While each sparrow’s focus narrows,
Wond’ring if it’s worth the dare.

Soon a robin may come bobbin’
Though he’s just consumed a worm
Which the grackle tried to tackle,
Losing out by just a squirm.

Then the seagull, looking regal,
Takes a dive to catch a fish
As the finches land mere inches
From a shiny take-out dish.

In the city, streets are gritty
But the birds still find a meal
For the locals (and some yokels)
Leave them lots that they can steal.

Santa Goes Electric

Now Santa is getting eccentric 
His sleigh is now fully electric
He made Rudolph retire
Pressed the red button - ‘Fire’
His world then went totally hectic

He searched for a roof with snow clearing
And found a good landing site nearing
First attempt was a mess
He had no GPS
And no reindeer doing the steering

There was no choice; he had to go back
But he felt he was getting the knack
He then, feeling bolder
Looked over his shoulder
And demolished the next chimney stack

Rudolph, eating sprouts and not grass
Had seen these events come to pass
He helped Santa out
But ate one more sprout 
And then put a flame to his ass

“By God, that’s one hasty arrival,
Could you please ensure my survival?”
And Rudolph said, “Sire
I shall stoke my fire,
But promise our team a revival.”

So up in the sky, roof to roof 
Relying on sleigh-ski and hoof
Santa got his job done
With a smidgen of fun
And sometimes a butt going ‘poof!’

A Murder of Crows

A murder of crows
A crowd of pigeons
A mob of mealworms
Hedgehogs? A smidgen

A swarm of swans
A drove of ducks
A throng of turkeys
This horde is full of un-lucks

Apple Picking

Born a dainty daughter of an orchadist,
the thrill of picking apples she can’t resist.
She dances around the fruit-full apple trees,
while the red delicacies swing in the breeze.

The southern wind blows across the orchard,
and the boughs shake at the flutter of the bird.
The apples fall through the shine of morning sun,
she picks them tenderly up one by one.

Their crimson hue close to heart she feels so dear,
as the orchard morphs into mesmeric Eden for her.
The apples attract her with the seducing allure,
the smidgen of Eve within her isn’t yet obscure.

Naked Robbery

Classes on tranny and ***** diversity
    universities reek of perversity

  Discrimination abounds all around
    save if your skin's black or brown

  Tuition hikes obscene, naked robbery
    flaunt luxury dorms and diners, effete snobbery

  Not a smidgen on learning or teaching in glittering reports
    just facilities upgrades, data analytics in sports

  Grade inflation boosts illiteracy ever higher
    agree or disagree ~ at least I'm no liar

She Pawned Her Ring

She pawned her ring
    went into hock
  Sold her long hair
    went into shock

  Took to the streets
    with naught to eat
  Just a smidgen of dope
    and a cup of hope

  Tried to beg
    took in a few bucks
  Injured her leg
    cried, 'This really sucks'

  Do you know this poor soul
    She's rather pretty, not very old
  A decent gal, she fell through the cracks
    of a godless world, where the 'haves' talk smack

Readers Choice

[Quite possibly the most juvenile gag I’ve
ever posted on Soup. In my defence, I was 
probably twelve when I first heard it.]

                    *

He went to the library to borrow a book
The librarian said, “Please do take a look.”
He looked for an hour but couldn’t decide
She said, “I’m surprised, when the choice is so wide.”

She pushed two books forward and said, “Look at these,
I’m certain that one of these writers should please.”
He gazed at the books with a smidgen of doubt
And asked her to detail what they were about

“Now, Dickens,” she said, “a likely solution,
With London and Paris: the French Revolution,
But if you feel reading this might take you ages
How about something with rather less pages?

“This other suggestion instils quite a chill.
A man selling body parts fresh from a kill 
He first kills a woman so ample of breast
And markets those ‘wares’ to a girl who has less

The man said, “One Classic and one Burke and Hare,
How might I distinguish the books you have there?”
She told him, “The first is ‘A Tale Of Two Cities’,
the second is titled ‘A Sale Of —’


[you were warned]

Moving Mountains

My prayer is clamorous, “Let this cup pass.”
somewhat pious, a smidgen of brass.
God's Word relates how mountains were moved,
waters turned back and shackles removed.

Thus so I make my request to heaven
“Lord, the strain is twenty-four, seven.
“Lord, I can’t think in this eternal noise.
“The mess, the stress, I confess, it annoys."

My simple prayer, "If there's another way,
some stroke of luck; take me out of this fray.
God, move my mountain, can you make it flee?"
Quietly His answer came; the mountain is me.

He moved my cup to a much better place -
And filled it full with salvation’s grace.
His grace - sufficient for any event.
my arrogance - feeble excuse to vent.

July 10, 2022

Sponsor	Edward Ibeh
Contest Name	Pick-A-Title, Vol 31

The Drifter

I was told every time you leave somewhere, there's a piece of you that gets left behind,  I've abandoned so many places, and if the statement is true, there's not much more of me I can spare, each shard, smidgen, and sliver that has been stripped away, is worth doing without, rather than having to stay somewhere, I don't want to be, I've said time and again, I'm glad there's places I've never been, that's what keeps me, moving on.
JSB

Shades of Spring

short drizzle of rain
splash window and grain
cleaning

flowers gleam post drain
clouds' gathered again
venting

rumble roused the sprain
shake hard the terrain
stirring

vibrant smidgen sward
not pleasant toward
softy

daffodils were oared
glossiest bright ward
lovely.

worker bees discord
care for hive concord
duty

1st PLACE CONTEST WINNER

The Lay is a very old French form of poetry. Its format is fairly simple:
9 lines per stanza, with a rhyming scheme of AAB AAB AAB and a syllable count pattern of 552 552 552.

Written: March 17, 2022

A BRIAN STRAND 1091 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand

Calm Prevails

I see what's happening today:
hate is routinely on display.
It seems like things changed overnight,
and lately, the world doesn't feel right.
A smidgen of truth, spiced with lies,
fake news makes my blood pressure rise.
And I'm more frightened every day,
for I fear war is on its way.

When I'm feeling overly stressed,
my heart starts pounding in my chest.
And as fear and dread alternate,
I start to hyperventilate.
My pulse quickens; I gasp for air,
for danger signs are everywhere.
I need a moment to calm down,
pause life, and turn my thoughts around.

I close my eyes, embrace the dark;
and envision a world less stark.
Switching off reality's light,
I allow hope to be my sight.
And with my mind back in control,
it helps me calm my panicked soul.
And I listen to songs of whales,
as my pulse slows, and calm prevails.

• Short Smidgen Poems
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