Analysis Poems

It is a foregone conclusion that the writer uses all five senses to create their work. However, I have found ( at least in my experience) that each sense exercised provides it’s own individual inspiration. Not to be over analytical

Self-realisation does not come when you expect it. It is beyond being aware or understanding your situation. It involves radical thinking Awakening happens when you’re fed up And you want to break the vicious cycle Unchain yourself from what society

I had always wondered If fiction is wrought Only in books and on celluloid. I know now, that fiction is when one by one the layers are pulled off. and the shadows that remain Is fiction. So when the boundary

Mind has different roles in realizing life’s goals. It claims to be rational in self-concerned decisions, creates different logics to win over pricking situations may be logics and decisions damage self and social control. Rationality in logics for all results

The Joy of Bing Skits zoid When just a whippersnapper of a little boy Me late mum and octogenarian pop agreed For doctor removal of my adenoid Less to prevent their only son from being coy Than fear of said

My fellow Americans, The hour is dark. Hence I stand before you With a heavy heart. Something is coming, Something man has never seen – An attack lacking precedent Within the pages of history. As you all well know, We

The voices, unheard The image, unseen. The crevasse that separates The analysis from my mind. It can’t reach me, as I cannot reach it myself. But still I am told to reach For the goal that I cannot see. Before,

Vivid and varied hues of nature, Innumerable shades of nature our eyes capture. Shades of green beyond our imagination, Unimaginable varieties leaving no explanation. Mesmerising sights, delightful moments, During spring, a grand show nature presents. Shrubs, vines, creepers and trees

A name breaks on the tip of a pen. Like a wildflower after a violet end. The yellow stripes will enter the past, retracing the path of failures. I pick up a broken thread to weave a shade of blue

She rocks the stage with elan Speaking not much with her clan Music her soul her heart Hands always moving like a work of art Strumming with fourths eighths and sixteenths Counting 1234 in patterns of beats Never a count

I was once sad and lonely, Having nobody to comfort me, So I wore a mask that always smiled; To hide my feelings behind a lie. Before long, I had many friends; With my mask, I was one of them.

every year I used to visit a place down by the sea the boardwalk pier pizza stands with fresh fried dough expossed to the sea shell band with family & friends let the reader understand bars with beers flowing was

The Window// (1) Behind the window, when clouds descend down over houses planted into mud, and seeds wake up, clock-hands go back to zero. Cottony fogs veil visions, so we might look inside, then I see a dewy dove carrying

Yet be another dawn as pristine and pure With captivating awe and everlasting allure Sun rise once again same as since before Exuding perfect glory to behold and adore Stray clouds wafting free spirited unbound Casting soft shadows on perfect

She lifted me gently in her arms, Smiles and warmth all around, She cuddled me closer to her chest, Humming a lullaby that resounds even today, She looked at me in the eye, Her words were soft and divine, Her

5 Newest Pieces By Mario William Vitale Springstein Diapers & Wine later on in the village their were aristocrats and thinkers junkies, flunkies & hippies the poetry added to the mood a cosmic tapestry the pool of Springstein on the

I was scrolling through a few of the #MeToo posts on my timeline, when, I thought I’d bring a few questions clawing my mind, to the society’s attention – How could you throw the unassuming girl child to the ants,

Handprint of innerself was writ large in your eyes. I hear you in your becoming. Are you me and me are you in sameness? The words and silence? I hope you are listening to the waves, from inside, from outside.

You are dying inside me, my little god. I am awakening after a long pause. The forked hazel wand does not bend back, perched on a buried treasure. I am disembarking from divining. I stayed without body, nervous; like aspen

The life of a tree starts from a seed, Be it an Oak, a Mahogany or even a weed; All it needs is a few drops of rain, sunshine and a little care, In a year or two, it would

Though a trillion coloured droplets just refract to cause an arc And though atmospheric pressure can explain Aurora’s spark And the moon and sun’s alignment can account for sudden dark Still you wonder….. While a flock of birds’ formation is

With no regret I write, precisely, I wish it was not so..not so.. When I wanted you the most, you were never around, When I wanted to speak to only you, you never answered my calls, When I wanted to

Sometimes I will interplay the secrets: faded rose in a book, a distant star spelling out your name. When I go, will you come to my home? Hold my eyes wide open and become my iris? I wanted to see

From the Rose: Blooming in a bed of thorns Rich colors imbued with jazz Heady fragrance in a sinful dance Riots of confusion crowding the senses Alluring, tempting, trapping… Final swirls into a web of guilty fragrance Can only see

A glowing presence appeared before me; was I awake or was I asleep? I thought her first a stranger; she wasn’t a stranger at all. “What is your name?” I asked. She answered: “My name is Photon.” I thought how

A pagan will search for antiparticles after a collective wrong: some tantric will throw up the smoke rings before the paean starts. Come, stand beside me, sadness is going to find me again on the oak tree. A hairy spirit

In lunatic scape of fringed labellum the creeping malignancy was advancing. i missed a rendezvous with moon when you had brought a blue kiss from abducted lips; again I become a sisypus lifting the rock off your comets of round

Some believe God to be a broker, Who fulfills desires on demand, But I know him to be a smoker, With a lit cigarette in his hand. We are nothing but ash and fire, A byproduct of his bad habit,

Think of the world minus a woman, first of all there would have been no man. If at all there was an existence, It should have met with no continuance. Right from the birth of a child, You will find

Taking me to OYSTERBAY, You entertain me every Saturday. There I saw the enchanting scenes, Grey sands with dying sunbeams. Tall poles of blue tube- lights, Beyond the vast ocean, Mirrors of water revealing their reflections. As if a glittering

You are a concave lens you diverge light rays, Your rays travel infinite on the unseen ways, You travel and travel very high, very high, Infinity is your fate where you die with a sigh, Virtual are images that you

An individual can create a movement, so large and monumentous, it swallows deprivation whole. Fulfil missions from God, for family friends, and even foes. Angel of darkness, do not misinterpret though. Not crazy or lazy , step back and listen

I travelled back a mile by the canal in sunshine, sky so fresh that early hour was nourishment and I gulped-down the air. Those path-side plants are nearly at their full, I watched a bristling, bulbous stem unroll, blue dragonflies,

Softly planted… not by hands but by our hearts Beyond the reach… of eroding winds, of the days caustic sting A place made… by a weathered touch by inner kisses We are the untouchables… prey only to our own fears

After a sacred kill you thrived in scriptures. Many centuries have passed for us living without you. Thyme will preserve you body, your brain, syndrome, for our children. When the apocalypse starts, Arctica would keep the seeds, grains, alive and

Again the Sorrow Coming like a crawling thief. By stealing joy and all what was the dearest It leaves me in the hollowness of grey No sun, no stars and neither blue, blue sky I don’t see anything, and I

The biggest discredit to one’s own self is to not be ‘ yourself ’. To strive to be like someone is the biggest injustice, ever done. To be your own biggest critic. To judge with an impossible yardstick. To never

The warmth of his comfort did reach me; a soothing calm… ’twas some magic potion, a caressing balm, he seemed to sense my intense turmoil; the nerves that jangled; the mind’s fertile soil.. Those anxious thoughts that tore serenity, that

There was a girl whose heart felt so cold; Her true story has never been told. With her head full of dreams, she walked the streets; She dreamed of having the world at her feet. She was trying to live

We seldom recognise good qualities of fellow human , when alive We determines his stature by his negative streaks We put down him at the slightest opportunity We see only the devilish quality and not the Divine quality in him

No I am not some naked little winged boy shooting arrows, like water, my love for you flows. I will stand on a mountain like a cock in the morning that crows my love for you, echoes test my chest