Attire poems that are original and profound. Explore a brilliant collection of attire poetry that you can’t stop reading. These poems on attire are published by poets from all over the world and are sure to keep you High On Poems!
Moments comes along in our life to be whatever it is Common to all or individually wrapped as hers or his From solitude to calamity is a range we are often dealt Consuming all and often sticks in memory of
It’s a happy day! After hundreds of submissions, days of reviews and a month full of happy poems, we finally bring to you the 5 lucky winners of Happiness Happens contest who have won prizes amounting to 100$ (each winning
The clock stuck 3:00AM; My cellphone alarm said, “Sleep Lakhan” I switched off the lights and turned the fan on; Went to sleep, as it was almost dawn. Dream started: I was sitting in a coffee shop working on my
And now you sit dumbstruck, being a vivid orthodox lion, you speak to the world that you are too sweet, with your creative and imagining mind. But I tell you child, ‘dreaming’ and ‘imagining’ are not synonymous words. They stand
You will be amazed. Look at the western skyline! Back-dropped in a glowing soft pastel peach color. “What’s that?” you ask. The tranquil sound of Nature is what you hear, my friend. The serene honking of Canada Geese mingling with
What can sound better than birds? Chirping on a bright sunny morning. And clouds dancing without a care, In the hazy sky above. What can look better than flowers? Blooming in all their glory and fragrance. And bees hovering above
A team of nine magnificent Canada geese fling in a “V” formation; over a serene alpine pond, skirted with a host of budding alpine wildflowers, amongst fresh spring vegetation. The Canada geese are flying low over this tranquil setting, their
Dwelling above Lake Louise is a young Alpha mountain goat who got run out of his pack for trying to take control away from the senior Alpha mountain goat. Young Alpha mountain goat is a feisty and shaggy beast. Fearless!
High in the Great Canadian Rockies; on the shoreline of a rippling mountain stream, dancing shadows are reflected in the eyes of a massive, supreme bull elk. A gentle breeze is gracefully guiding the leaves of glorious fall tapestry, jagged
Across an exotic field of lavender a gentle breeze drives. Honey bees happily harvesting pollen for their owner’s hives. From flower to flower a host of butterflies flit about. Making this field of lavender come alive! Honey bees and butterflies;
“HMS Trincomalee, British Man-O-War, sixty guns, one hundred gross tons was she, The Purser and Pressman am I, managing a pressgang in strict service of country and King. Her ships bell marking time; bosun pipes: Captain arrives! She’ll turn with
Arms stretched high Voice pitched high Let me sing Song of freedom Tender shall be the song As the petal of fresh rose Fresh as the droplet of summer rain Sharper it shall be As the rains of winter sun
“HMS Trincomalee, a British Corvette, sixth rate warship of 28 guns, Five hundred gross tons was she. The King’s Pressman am I, handling a pressgang of five, My firm service of country and King. Her ships bell marking time; bosun
Like a rumbling thunder let loose upon a recalcitrant world by the fury of nature, the sound of heavy gun shots could be heard ominously in the distance from this remote settlement where the inhabitants lurks away in the gloomy
From farthest East, or more precise The forests vast on India’s breast, Rose hymns of wisdom that never dies, The words of knowledge, forever best. Those hymns were born from wisest hearts, As throats would trill in sombre shades; They
Oh! Dear Almighty, No one ever imagined, nightmares could be so fair; It showers bullets, its floods human blood; The black masked men, taking everyone in their den; The den lying in the hell, ringing our death knell; Bodies are
Dancing Shadows High in the Great Canadian Rockies; on the shoreline of a rippling mountain stream, dancing shadows are reflected in the eyes of a massive, supreme bull elk. A gentle breeze is gracefully guiding the leaves of glorious fall
She had changed colours to please her eyes her soft sight covers the earth , her fond beauty dumbs the earth , commenting ‘silence ‘. She was green back in her old days , had changed, green to golden .
From the busy schedule, reserve some time for self Wait for a while and, analyze yourself Go offline for sometime and forget all the worries Peep in the childhood and refresh all the memories Do makeover for yourself and get
She takes both happiness and sorrow in her stride and she remains silent without a murmur so far nobody knows what is in store for her in life One who is close now would have been stranger once Tears of
A rustic lass of early teens sells raw diamonds on a pavement. black stones are laid on a mat small rocks fetch her livelihood. ‘See, the stones can cut glass sheets, all are genuine raw diamonds, buy now or you
The heavy metal series of poetry demonstrates an inner ability to speak words of kindness; Toward the resolve of the 1980’s heavy metal scene; To demonstrate a reasonable high calibur of interest; To the average novice of intellect, It’s plausible
The feel of leaf dust, Shreds rustling around, The sight of falling leaves, unencumbered my senses. Standing bare at some places, Orange and yellow in some corners; Trees, like traveling artists, Put on colorful plays, Changing attire at every stage.
It was just a passover which held it for long where evil enforce their rules. The peace was been dragged from their life , all what is getting displayed is those deepest remorseful cries. He started walking with his mellow
Played in the hills of another world`s land, Spent the nights reading in my room but always dreamed about lying in the sand. Then one evening between 15th and 17th of July, With his wings so heavy and attire so
The box clatters with every sway of the automobile, My tummy feels like metals crushing together, freezing my teeth, The glasses shaking nonstop, feels like hell, Everywhere we step is a death trap, dodging several holes, The chauffeur, all red
Scared I was, entering an eave, Of holy hermitage, and pious naïve, To tumble down, from regal to rag, And love your attire, and delicately drag, Entwining a smile, gazing your chest, Dilemma of ardor, intimate of best, Your blissful
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,
I’ve lived in your heart for three years. My payments were always before time. If I made too much noise I assure you I didn’t know. My foot steps are often loud, the neighbor beside me keeps his music up.
And like broken glass The secrets intensify. The vulnerability of time. Both beautiful and sad. The sound of broken glass. Despite how beautiful the shards sparkle. Despite time. You’ll never know what’s on it’s mind. Hand to glass. The prints
Being a mother… That path that is sometimes taken, that path that sometimes reaches you, and that you, even as a companion, always walks. That road full of efforts of pains and struggles but pregnant with joys, with teachings. That
Living in a cyst, it would explore the breast. The black ethics goes beyond the bounds of mystique of non-movement. A while away a conflict comes out of the body. Melts into a face. There is no flesh, no skin.
The burial ground should not be a place of buried treasures The bodies of the deceased are all that should be found there We brought nothing into this world, and nothing should go out Blessed are we who die in
Only those with the wisest minds -the oldest eyes, remember the days of love truly lost. The woman with the rage speckled iris, the man with the world-heavy curved spine, Holding aloft thy heads as the wisping breaths of each