Brussels poems that are original and profound. Explore a brilliant collection of brussels poetry that you can’t stop reading. These poems on brussels are published by poets from all over the world and are sure to keep you High On Poems!
I wonder, sometimes, why it is a fact, A gifted, handsome man should be alone. My iambic pentameter’s intact, And yet I tend to lyric on my own. Alliteration alienates romance. The ladies scorn my struggle with cliché They scoff,
For the sake of lake, I climbed on the weeping hills to see the other side of moon. The precipice of hunger weighs heavily on shoulders. Capricious time moves inwardly, Strikes at the chest. I set free the love-birds. Conflict
A difference in the style of the work More lines maybe less in an ordinary word. Still learning and grasping at my views like sounding like a thunder storm in early summer. A sun is shining like an image of
Why don’t you remember? Remember again, Music of September, I still retain. We met in the greenery, A wet, lovely scenery, A teen age romance, The music and dance. Why don’t you remember? Remember again, Magic of September, Your shyness,
Mirror was shattered By a single crevice. Those dusky eyes are places Where truth lies. Silent as night was my fate But then those footfalls Captured me to enervate. Wind turned the pages Of a story forsaken. Words had some
It’s hard to watch a man sing. Soon it becomes awkward. Watching him stand there Beginning to sway. Without a single use for his hands they are just there. Forced to make eye contact Not knowing which way to go
Hoisting the bisexuality on a figurine, I crawl back to anxiety. The primitive instinct was taking over the stitches on a snake. What do you want from a moon for the drooling mouth of a seashell? Braiding the breasts against
It was a killing line. Walking on razor wire, when toes would not leave the sky and heels will not touch the ground. Myths and legends were becoming a witchcraft. Are you ready to eschew the classical script and write
That day when my name was announced I walked towards the stage and took my place I felt very happy and content Almost everyone stood up And clapped and cheered for me But, do you know what was even more
On a cloudy day The grass plants were dancing with the air, laying on the green carpet of grass while travelling within me Pain wave origin from heart Like a deadly storm in a desert The crushing waves of pain
Feels heavenly to have your shadows on my soul, Imaging you in me… Crappy reminiscent… Behold you so querulous, pretending to be so apprehensive. But not actually, I chuckled Am hoping yon weird nights to recur, Would
I took a good few Viscous glugs, that Night. My mother’s breakdown Was getting to me and My pity was destroying Me from the intestines, up. Couldn’t be Christian guilt, Surely? But I felt good again – Her wringing hands
I’m a prisoner -A prisoner of my mind. I can’t be free. I can’t be me. Locked in by anxiety, interrogated by insecurity, and depression is barricading the door. With no room to breathe, I can feel my lungs collapse
I believe the ‘wee of a day’ Is the early morning when The babes are still sleeping The cocks have not yet crowed Hounds are just coming from the hunt Owls have not yet started dreaming. I believe the ‘wee
What do you believe and why do you believe it? Our world has shaped who we are physically and spiritually. We are different colors, speak different languages and have different gods based on where we were born. The accident of
Sometimes I imagine, I am free: free to come out from a diagram, to bring inside out. Ultimately rescued from the ancestors, and ready to face my unborn children. An apparition sneaks in. Transgender? Half human, half god? There is
Melting into this monotonous moment The faded clock twists into oblivion Sweet distortion echos, so very potent As I ponder my made decision Choices tangle into my deep dark fate As I deeply dwell on these many past mistakes I
My heart stopped pumping My blood doesn’t flow though my veins I stopped felling love and hate Yes, I am passing through the Death’s Gate I lived my life Complaining about the traits, And now when the time came, Why
The spectre of falling towers in night unfolds in awe. A reclusive star rises in east at dawn. Heart of pig was being readied for implant, tallies with the seizured hollow of a man. A young girl of seventeen, comes
it’s true that I am cerebral and erudite I use words both pithy and expositional which is to say I am constantly engaged in the act of expounding, setting forth, and explaining my point of view allow me to pontificate-
O ! Mahatma Gandhiji ! How powerful Your weapon ! More powerful than , Ever , ever made. O ! Mahatma Gandhiji ! How destructive your weapon ! More destructive than atom bomb , That destroys in total. O !
Whereever I go there you follow When in the morning Sun rises you follow me with your height growing taller then mine As the Sun moves up at noon you would walk by my side with your height shrinking in
Vague log cabins speckle the yawning valley against the rapture of majestic mountains. Narrow pathway snakes up the range, gooseberry shrubs colour the sides of the stony trail that leaves me cold. Squinting against the dead sun chilly winds dampen
Windless dry air blankets the horn of this continent A familiar stare from large ebony eyes embedded in one cherished frame From the scorched earth an anguished image peers out with born innocence Simple wishes glimmer from sunken optic caves
If I could write you a love song, I’d do it. Sitting in this cool, silent cabin, Watching through a window framed by Pines, the afternoon as it ages and dies, I’d spin a melody in notes tender and True
To tread over the moon, to Armstrong, had anyone taught? To scale Mt. Everest, had anyone led Tenzing, with hand caught? Did anyone pioneer Alexander the Great, to conquer the world? Can history stop his success stories being retold? Did
His last breaths…. from within a white Portland ward, beneath white sheets. Were silent endearing sounds. They were not born of pain, but of peace. His loyal wife…his bonded sons at his side. The oldest son softly whispering, “Go to
You are a lovely girl, Someone as beautiful as a pearl. Hidden behind that timid, shy and reserved attitude, Is someone so opposite to her solitude. You wait for that one chance, Where you can take your life’s better glance.
She wasn’t taller than her doll-house. She was still writing to Santa Claus. Dark curly hair and wide open eyes she piously kneeled piercing the skies. She smiled to Heaven and silently said: ‘With this heart I Thee wed! ‘.