As the name suggests, this genre comprises of poems that are short in length and use literary techniques such as meter, metaphor and rhyme. Short poems present the extravagant experiences, the long extensive thoughts in a shorter version. A piece of writing using beautiful or unusual language arranged in fixed lines that have a beat and often rhyme.
I see it coming the end before the beginning. Of dawn. The midnight call. Impeachment was fragile. A satanic cult overwhelms the freedom of negation. Do yoy think we can move the tree of wisdom from the altar of ethics
It was your integrity at the time of ubiquitous pain of separation, you want to move the home away from home coming to terms with the trauma your shadow was not following you playing dead nuzzling the earth, racing to
You are peeling me off like a crab. Time has sunk very low. For the hungry kids who was growing crab apples? Creating art, arriving between the pubes. A microfossil roosting within me. I could live without oxygen. Incandescent, the
Confused and wary like a spermwhale, you are nosediving; – through the shadows of terrible pain ejecting ambergris. Who was getting the bribery to fix the belly button? This was not revolution. It was evolution- of a stinking city. The
Bounty of landfall. I am collecting your berries. The castle has connived with the moat to end an era. The first step ends the journey. An avatar has accepted the bribe. Gather the tents and return the sky. My morale
Siblings will take care of the morgue. I am going to hang my god today. Howling winds are crashing into my breath. In the sea of flags, the white death walks on naked bodies of faith. Innocence will take a
Tonight the nectar will be spread to tame a random tormentor. Black and white, I never saw my father weeping. Lonely he was. I am my own creation today weather beaten. Confession to – confession, unread. When the- storm was
Unslept- hangman, flees from the noose. The day had come to execute. A thought had become a fear but fear was not a thought. Naked in the moon a wolf wants move of something leaning on the hills of thirst,
A frame lifts the skirt of a portrait and throws her genitalia on your face. A twin blast has taken place. Why did you stand for eclecticism? The fables will miss you and blue horse will not return home. The
It was not dark in a killing field. A primitivism has prevailed upon an intimate hate crime for brand mnemonics. A bronzed moon will come out tonight. The glances were missing and you – cannot see properly. The blue bird
An ascetic dies in a shoe spilling blood. A surreal moon wants to investigate – a sectarian divide of fraudulent sky. And you want to be buried under rose petals – courting controversies to clean the polluted river. A lifeboat
Turn the corner and you will find, some dark figures huddled together under the rains of words. In a fractured embrace. One chunk of floating pain falls on you. The assassin had come quietly. A song was knifed today. Turn
Do not take a vow of silence. Death will find its home. The circus has taken over the needles.Who will stitch the wounds of earth. A man walks into sunset carrying a bowl of tears. The sit-in was going to
The descent starts with a dance, of tears and fire. A culture of lids lowers the salt, the silver, the gems. Antithesis to cremate a golden ascent. The night long vigil had a naked puff. It will roll now in
He had pulled in many springs but failed to find a heaven. Asked not to look away. In absences he tried to enter the wounds again. An aboriginal pain flies over my shoulder. A spiritual failure of mankind? Counting unctuously
It was a fast against truth, in support of unbidden body which took the history lesson. A star is born out of midnight accident. Darkness deems dark in siege of self-restraint. An embattled self seeks a counting. The money speaks
You were trampeling on a wasp, when sprouts were generating Escherichia. Dirt. Romping around. How many corpses were there? Why can’t you tell the exact figure? Under the carpet the shoes will help. The need to jump from the rostrum?
Consensual drop. White bougainvilleas were falling on green eyes, as I climb the sun. Not a loss. The seeds will carry an image of a fallen hero on the hairy chest of a spilled sperm- into the rippled lake of
Were you ready for a virginity test to cross the umbrella of harpoons. A chilled moon will welcome you after slaying the hot sun in the valley of gods. A schism scoops ignominy. Seeing the lights which were not there.
An autopsy was being conducted with brutality to silence the rising dialogue, pulling out the lethal crunch of scripted history. You want the kiss of a parting grain. A secondhand face crops up in a newspaper. Are you ashamed of
Anti-howling receives the deserter. There was a mass breast-beating without any noise. The pugnacious jaw drops. Shows a frail sensitivity to tormented values – of invisible mirrors, shutting down the wolf’s face. An ancient spider jumps on your bronzed ego.
Arrive with me in untainted light. Between two threats: life and death. Falling from mantle, there was no surrender. Bone-deep, I will ask you a question. What life has given to you and what death has taken from you? Read
Lead me into, the green darkness, under the nude flames. It was hurting; the golden sun. Out of full moon, werewolves would come out chasing the flesh, the long limbs of silence, in asci of fluids, stopped in tracks. No
They will not come down with branding iron and bobbing stings. Instead. we will walk down the earth, to meet the silence in half-lit homes of enemies. This poverty of pause and peeling off from giants of fences. I send
How will you carry the mount of tears in the vally of temples? Kites flowing in sky of beings-egos-denials and repeals. Smiling at pain I unspeak to a keeper of cage, under the shadow of golden roses, walking with blue
While writing a poem I make a blood hole in my hand. A walnut face opens the wrinkles to find a jade green nephrite for colicky times. A prelude to a death sentence for profane thoughts. You think, you can
It was a failed attempt to employ the eternity for breathing. Iris, I cannot find the moon behind the rainbow, when I was throwing petals at your feet. O, white truce of anemone, why phosphrous was given up at the
It was getting dark. The insane curve of greed was rising. I would not draw the boundaries between the words. The finch was immersed in soliloquies and light was waiting inside the seeds. I open my eyes and yell at
Perfect bridges for a fading light taking you to dark caves like fireclay in fake sorrows. The superstition of a race pool and unearthing the sacred temple under a mount of lies. In vitro a baby god sleeps waiting for