Presenting top rated poems hand-picked by our Editorial Board that are a must read and indicative of the standards that we seek in the poetry being submitted to our site. These poems surpass the basics of poetry writing and reach the core of every reader with their phenomenal writing style, thoughts and selection of words. Stunning imagery, interesting metaphors and intensity of the poet’s point of view make them a class apart. Each poem in this section breaks the typical boundaries of writing and leaps into an extra-ordinary frame of imagination, raising the bar for poems published by HighonPoems. A huge round of applause to each poet who has stood out with highest ranking and reached this remarkable milestone.
Consider this our salute to your poetic excellence!
HighOnPoems is a creative platform for amateur poets to publish and share their work by being a part of the most vibrant poetry community. Our objective is to encourage poets thereby enhancing communication within the literary fraternity. We urge poets to write, share their work, communicate with fellow poets and live the poetry experience to the fullest. At HighOnPoems, we are constantly striving to foster sharing of self written poetry amongst friends, bring in diverse themes, varied forms of poems and a lively forum where poetry can be discussed to no limits.
My second chance is bristling in a fire but you were here you could have changed the conversation, you could have given me your touch, but it dissolved into yesterday, and a furnace I’m a dead man, heart locked away
Do not be a stranger come on and write. Your poems like flowers in the garden of life. When you are gone there is no sunshine around. So please be here because you are a wonderful scribe. Your words are
(with words borrowed from Cyril M Kornbluth) in molten silver beyond reckoning you watch clouds float beneath your eyelids your tongue crushes grapes until they pour gold and you forever taste the song of peacocks making melodies for the morning
Ghosts hang like pictures from the walls, traces of words echo these halls. Sometimes at night, I can hear the staircase creak, so I cover my head and, to myself, speak. I tell myself nothing is there, nothing is there,