Begot poems that are original and profound. Explore a brilliant collection of begot poetry that you can’t stop reading. These poems on begot are published by poets from all over the world and are sure to keep you High On Poems!
Where did you come from? Every ancestor you ever had, had to beget with who they begot. If any link in the chain begot with someone different. If someone turned left instead of right. You’d not be here today. By
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…..
Born May 5, 1818, in Trier Germany to Heinrich and Henrietta Marx, sans the third of nine children (and second oldest heir) Karl Marx thinking begot incendiary sparks, asper his two most controversial publications titled The
I could not take it, the fear. Transient flesh vibrant in a sunken ship. On a coral island deconstruction of a fallen window. Jumping on million skins. The level of violence was rising. Rebuttal will not convey the truth, the
So I find myself once again in the shadow of the crescent moon Back to the marshlands in the throes of an ancient gossamer Forest…well I can still hear your voodoo beckoning the spirits And I too can feel the
I have a lush green garden full of Charming snakes, Their frightful sight can give heart attacks. Though in appearance attractive and sleek, Their dominance can make your life very bleak. My garden attracts them to fulfil their greed, They
Greying streets whisper cold dust, a different time Their utterance echoes,carves on my glass mind. They hush a hymn so soft, it dangles like innocence, from an old child. I, an antique vase made to their design. Greying streets whisper,
Poetry is not an intelligent Arrangement of words or rhymes But an articulation of heart An articulation of emotion An articulation of the subtle feelings That can never be expressed by a prose Poetry is associated with more heart Than
I’m hooked to this rusted gate and in a corner, That’s me – choking, and just choking, from slit ventilation and you just ignore. I hold your responses and stack all that comes, That’s me – waiting, and just waiting,
Cake and custard, Bread and jam and mustard. Yum yum yum, Filling up my tum. Nice chocolate muffin, Big balls of stuffing. Yummy yummy yummy, My round tummy. Bourbon biscuits and custard creams, Sweet jam donuts bursting at the seams.
We speak like rattling rain And fumble through inhibitions Before we reach each other. I dip each word, in the inky darkness of my mind and hang it over the moon. And he, He glorifies the crescent Day after day
This must be for real? gasped the yellow budded calyx That must be true. Answered the wasp. Time for me to lapse into another – those petals. But which of you is for real? Questioned the bud again. Said the
Carrying a satchel all along inside of which are , decisions un-taken I run up and down Scaring away my evil cravings and all the immoral that the world taught me I focus too much on not doing bad (wrong)
Eyes do speak. It’s funny how they perceive the things around. The broken conversations heard by fully complexed ears. I believed that I’d be ok. The conclusions that eyes draw. Never making sense of the words heard. I believed it
How has history harkened to he? Through time he has become older, And distorted years, too much they see: How a man once real, has become sold, His discovery praised, but his life forgotten. And he’ll pass so silently, In
By mid month I won’t even tell them that this is is last month’s issue The election calendar has not changed since then Prioritize our distribution with a few hundred a couple hundred more to develop the readership on the
It slithers, the tongue trying to find the rage on cold words. A window shuts on fire for a deliberate withdrawl from conflicts. The virgin iron becomes a corpse under the golden amnesia of hot greens. The colors are changing
Focused on burgundy palms as the age blinks, you start distressing on a unipolar pinnacle, biting the nails. The road absorbs the horizon. Perched on a controversial tree the birds break into small events to reach the grass roots. A
My afflicting Evil precedes our God himself; at dawn was born in turbulent oceans, sunken ravines that few had trod, ripe with fruits of ever-present torment. People rejoiced at my each rising word, trees uproot with the gesture of my
What is marriage? giving 50% of yourself to your lover? Better yet is it giving 100%? Is it a commitment to stay committed to what yall already to commit to? Is it the thought being able to lay next to
Rhythm and Rhyme reach the Listener. Put him behind bars and begin to beat. Thoughts of escape, a tortured prisoner, he resists and is met by quick defeat. Possessed by Flow, with no exorcism, he is stabbed with a double
An evening primrose glides, on my rough hands. I pluck a laugh from the lips, of a parched face. It knows the meaning of death, kissing the pink eyes. Of the lost fidelity and the innocence of the dying sun.
It started as an emotion Started seeking attention Growing in proportions Filled with dedication Changed to a feeling Which was appealing Made life compelling As she started believing Progressed to friendship Which felt like kinship And a good partnership With
Remember the times when you were younger You broke your knee and survived a fall You shrugged and smiled and took it in your stride You were so brave and endured it all Laughed it off when others scoffed And
It rained heavily last night, And the pillow got wet, A sleepless night, a painful night. Don’t you see! Her scars and her swollen eyes, Happiness turned into remorse, And the stream of enthusiasm changed its course. Just one moment,
Time: eternal mystery is wrapped around our souls; it steals the bloom from rose-bud cheeks, matures the lambs and foals. It ages wine and feels sublime parcelled in anticipation, it emancipates, illuminates, frees some shackled nations. Time is kind and
Hope an upward slope to a panoramic view where the scope of fine imagination waits for you unbound dream-seeing vistas crisp and clear surround potential seeming new though always here waiting as seeds of inspiration to conceive and raise the