Adrift Poems speak of a sort of lonely, gloomy ambience where the poet is lost in the abyss of life. Adrift poems are about loss, confusion, compromise and those never-ending bouts of pain that memories bring out of nowhere.
An average of 2,830 cubic meters per second of rich silt forms an alluvial plain that spreads outward in a fan shape from sedimentary deposit whereby ancient Egyptian civilizations got built adorning arid topography invaluable like the aorta pumping blood
I stare into the night, the darkness and my thoughts become dark then I knelt down to ask for forgiveness. I stare into the water and my eyes become watery as I see the water flowing on forever miles and
The street lamp validated it. I’m single, sui generis, without partner, lost entirely in self. East, up the street, no shadow cast. Turning this way and that a black specter, once sewn to my heel, deserted me. Under the lamp,
Music and words are the places that I hide, the solace of their sanctuary with walls, behind which to hide. But now when I sing those melodious old songs, tears are all I can find where the words should belong.
I envy the farmer’s wife Sitting beside her partner for life – Gazing together into the sunset. This togetherness is not there, We have lost it – I don’t know where. Together we sleep in a double bed – You
To come crashing through the gates of hell, look the demon in the eye and casually yell! Total defiance in every breath as you stare down into the dungeons of death. Never before have you shaken my goals or been
The heart of a male romantic expresses his feelings born from his own pen rather then purchased in a card He is moved to comfort the one who holds his adoring gaze He will make her feet float softly on
Descending schools of clear droplets wash away yesterday, Thunder bellows and shakes …stirs thoughts adrift in the distance, trickles of fine creeks merge on the bedroom window pane. ..and I reflect back to a man…an essential friend… His last night.
One beautiful Sunday afternoon, down by the valley where the waters cascading down the rocks upon the stony bed I sat, lost in reverie on my life continuous struggles when His shadows appeared, silhouetted against the fading sun upon the
Her beauty was captivating sweet of heart, flustered within shades of hazel searching still luster. She seemed adrift the tides vacant stare of sadness walking lovelorn shadows on mystic nights. She was perfect the other half of me, pertinent as
Our tryst in time, a happenstance gone by, Went all so well and sweet, but very swift, My heart, in sorrow did nothing but cry, On rivers of its tears it’s now adrift; Short were those days, the sun made
He put on a tie for the appointment, carefully knotted it though while rounding up his necessaries from the scarred top of the old, painted dresser he dropped his keys twice and decided to take the bus His feet were
Higher than clouds, A voice beckons loud, Shouting incoherent statements, Clouding its own sentiments. Down here vibrations resonate, In well traveled ears they commemorate, Aggressive tones without grace, Screaming on shriveled yesterdays. Voices screech after enough, When deafly righteous is
We kissed and set the wheels in motion. Driven wild, I crashed upon your curves. No control, let loose lust’s potion. Set adrift on sensory swerves. See me drowning in your eyes. Taste the poison from your lips. Ignite me
Under the whisper of lunar night, draws this captive heart to your light. Of you, one day to have and to hold, May my love be blessed, as bold As I walk amid meadows frosted glaze, grasses faint breath moistens
When darkness dampens your devotion, The will is there but devoid of emotion; Remember to hold your head high And kiss every violent wind which passes by. That violent wind takes you to places unknown, Places of future palaces and
What if, the world wasn’t so swift? It wouldn’t be adrift and caught in an awful rift. What if we acknowledge each other as sisters and brothers? Instead of separation we become a congregation, under GOD one nation. From your
Your fangs open like lips. I am ready for the kiss of death at a war zone, where I was adrift holding the flame, moments stabbed by hot bullets. Black and white words break the embrace, I cannot study the
She had lived in her lonely illusions Since she first came to know of life’s lies When she first watched the sun set in silence Beneath crowded vermilion skies, Where the rain fell in multi clad colours Just like rainbows
As a young man, I was always obsessed By melancholy. I saw deep sadness, The quality That so tormented my heroes, Such as Arthur Rimbaud, And Montgomery Clift, As glamorous and romantic, But it’s not… It’s not remotely romantic, When
Where he fixed the features of his mental image what he thought and what tells vividly his visage He planned a journey of progress for present to start When his country would cover that with spirit of heart In future
The child in his arms was such a precious gift, her sweet loving smile would make his heart lift. Born into a love that none could compare with her baby blue eyes framed with curly blonde hair. Conceived and born
Wearily wandering, silently by The dreams and the wishes of yesterday’s sky, Remembering far away promises made Just pieces of flotsam adrift in the shade, Like explorers of truthfulness they travel on, Until every connection with yesterday is gone, And
Low-slung August sun shadows stonework into the deeper shadow lands — phantoms adrift on the wide Sargasso sea — and so unruffled, these lawns, and all this frumpery. So much then has time and its opposite done for me. It was along these lines that
In this blood-watered land forms flow fluid as serpent becomes lizard, lizard becomes turtle, turtle become cicada, cicada becomes sea urchin, becomes sacred owl with onyx eyes In this soul-fed land fugitive figures fuse into each other, my breath becomes
The Legend of Procris and Cephalus. based on a painting in the London National gallery “A satyr mourns the death of a nymph “, painting by Pierro de Cosimo Who is this maiden sleeping here This beauty she is dead
I’ll start with some foundation for this provides my base, It helps hide any blemish that I find upon my face, It smooths out any wrinkles, it softens up my skin, I need to match the shade I need before
The fragility and passion that emits blood as viscous and crimson as the hue and cry of her inhabitants… The sad, tormented and sorrowful soul of this groaning entity of life and death with her terminal sickness… That hangs, suspended…and
Even should Lawrence expiate the pity Describe in metaphor as he will the fig and snake None of this is as anything to this Two centuries later exceeding the equal of the take I mean, what goes through your mind
The clown is in the rocket ship and he’s crying just for you He’s been smoking something strange now he’s going up to the moon It’s alright because he’ll be back for you…………… real soon I might have; could have;
What an incredible adventure this love affair has been So many wondrous things that I have felt and I have seen So many special places that left such a tender mark A myriad of memories forever etched upon my heart
I am The pain Shed its form to conquer My existence, leaving in its cruelty Only my heart to survive. Gasping for breath, for life For you Hoping to welcome its final death throes; But she in her cruel magnanimity,
In his short spaceless life Discordant happiness plays foul, A missed chance heavy price demands. He sought another that never was for him As he feared his utter laziness And never spelt her adored name Before eastern Sun broke forth…..
If only we were bones We wouldn’t throw so many stones Separated by this skin We seem to forget we’re all human Brother killing brother All for their flesh’s color Inequality uncontrolled Because of the lies we’ve all been told
I read a book it doesn’t seem to end thousand pages I have read and yet the end is nowhere near characters keep appearing and vanishing no apparent design no apparent destiny sarcasm without wit irony without intent maybe I
The sky is deep and murky green, The white sun sinking over the horizon, Extended by junk and litter. This is the oxymoronic haven. A carnival of despair Filled with torturous laughter Distorted, slow, hurdy-gurdy whistles, And tinkling, unsettling music-boxes.
Beyond the sex he was sleepwalking in shame hiding his faith ingloriously. A poacher in harem of politics, where you stack the hidden virility for killing the money. A single mate must die making love on screen in the vicinity