A short poem* about newscasters with big hair


In the morning
the newscasters are dreary serious
And their hair is big like buildings

They scare me

*Short poems are neither haikus nor sonnets and they have no rules about rhyming or rhythm or that they even need to be good at all so if YOU have a short poem to share please do so here.  Below.  In the comments.  How fun would that be?

(See, I almost started writing another short poem there, it is so fucking easy.)



10 Comments on "A short poem* about newscasters with big hair"

  1. Patty says:

    I see myself sitting on the couch piecing together
    the ripped up pages of my mother’s rage-filled letters
    Is this wierd?
    I guess so
    But it’s really fun

  2. shelbo says:

    Short Poopetry by shelbo

    I sit at my computer
    for a refreshing change
    no job in sight…hurray…whaaa…scary…anxious…fearful

    I just want to sit and
    look at my African art
    wish I was scooping elephant poop

    • Cupcake Murphy says:

      Short Poopetry CAPTIVATED me. You are obviously published? I do hope you will pen more masterpieces. Brava poetess!

  3. Solitary Step

    I was headed out the door,
    when I ran headlong into hopelessness.
    I tried maneuvering,
    but got tripped up by despair.
    Eventually I righted myself,
    but not without regret,
    for when I looked to see how far I’d gotten
    for all my time and trouble spent,
    it was rather sobering
    this single, solitary step.

    [Bone cancer survivor ….4 years post diagnosis, learning to walk again].

  4. skerch says:

    there’s nothing louder
    than the silence of this house
    the day after my beloved four-legged family member died
    this new quiet
    so loud I can’t sleep

    • Cupcake Murphy Cupcake Murphy says:

      Oh that feeling of Big Bad Empty. It’s so hard to handle. You’re in my thoughts dear one.

  5. Janine says:

    the days slip like a treadmill belt
    as I frantically lower the speed
    why do I bother burning my legs, calories, thoughts
    like a sacred creed
    but at least something is better than nothing
    isn’t that how the elements started anyway
    bumbling, babbling atoms

  6. Tanja Cilia says:

    Bad Hair Day

    Worms of worry
    Drain my brain
    Cyclops mirror steals my sleep

    Stifling synapses
    Throttling thoughts
    And smiting ideas

    Whirligigs though my mind
    Shattered dreams and injured pride
    I was taken for a ride… they lied.

    Helpless sadness
    Hapless madness
    Overwhelming tide; hurt pride.

    Black tomorrows
    Untold sorrows.

    Feeling weird
    No one cheered; they all jeered
    And sneered.

    Unfulfilled pledge…
    What “cutting edge”?

    Replayed scenes
    Crumbling castles in the air

    Why did I not leave well, alone?

    Sad emotions
    Darkest notions
    Creating doubt and fear…

    I hate my green Mohican.

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