The mere word has a rhythm to it. Poem is a verbal composition in which the expression of feelings and ideas are intensified with the help of diction (sometimes involving rhyme), rhythm, and imagery. Poems are classified into various sections, some of which are included in the sub-categories here. Poems are usually designed to convey experiences, ideas, or emotions in a vivid and imaginative way, by the use of language chosen for its sound and suggestive power and by the use of literary techniques such as meter, metaphor, and rhyme. Hope you enjoy every poem you read at HighOnPoems.
One passionate life, A desire to fly, All I dream of, Is living in the sky. One passionate dance, One loving kiss, One glorious night, Under the sparkling moon. One healing touch, One unexpected move, All I desire is, Your
A beautiful butterfly sits on my palm, Radiating the brilliance of its colors, Shades unseen, unfathomable… I am so mesmerized; I close my other palm on it to make it my own. I peek through the void created by my
I stand alone gulping the lazy sun Slouching in sky, avoiding everyone A chaotic day, finally descending Darkness sprouts an intoxicated ending A quiet little leaf falls from a tree You sigh at its fall, I am glad it’s free
If I were a toy solider, I would sail, A child’s paper boat of reveries, When the afternoon was a languorous snail, And the scent of sleep slept upon trees. I would be the smile that played on his eyes,
Heaps and heaps of words Stuck in desperation, mute, blind I un-turn pages and unfold stories A deliberate, hysterical rewind A happy poem they ask for Color, dance and delight I dig out thoughts, restlessly Terrified letters turn white A
I am tired of my rants like a millions hammers pounding away in my brain constant chatter drowns sanity expectations love and affection comfort insecurities and misadventures regrets lost and found a million lives not lived what could be and
Liars are them who say aren’t afraid of the dark. Monsters under them bed they fear… The howl of wolf at a distance they hear… Liars are them who say they aren’t afraid of the dark. Marshy creeks. Silence shrieks.
The last bit of cigarette from his hand drops into the ashtray. So does mine. Are they making love to each other, As we are? Love, need, passion, kisses, skin, climax. Are their thoughts like ours, burnt and spent? As
Don’t let your heart become a paper boat sailing towards childhood, Towards the harbor of its never returning fragrances, Don’t float towards its crescent moons if you could, or the enchanting crooning of its past tenses. Don’t become an interpreter
I sat by the window, With a cup of tea warming my palms, And watched the plummeting raindrops, Gleefully break into a sprightly dance. One by one the drops, Glided down the window pane, And with great rhythm and motion,
With fireflies in a jar, I treaded along the path, Strewn with silver streaked flowers, Under the starlit sky. The moon hid its face , Behind the cloudy sheers, And beckoned to the trees, To sing a soothing lullaby. A
The hopes of a harvest seem distant, Beneath yonder scalding sun. Oh destinies are you penitent, For all that you have done. The money- lenders scream beyond the din, Of your crying starved children. Dreams in your eyes and a
Part I Has the spring of poetry faded away? In a deluge of falling leaves, When the shadows and lights are at play, Like transient doubts and beliefs. Have words become faceless apparitions, Gazing into the boundless night, At ancient
My breath, Mixed with pungent thoughts Dissolves within And grow thoughts under my skin Like a disease, spread with ease! My breath, Crawls in the tunnel of lungs Doing an abandoned dance, in trance In pain she sighs, and yet