Chair poems bring the best collection of short and long chair poetry. Poems for him and her and every poetry lover. These great chair rhymes are so amazing they will touch your heart and keep you craving for more. Hope you find your own deep meanings in these chair poems. They are decent, rhyming, free spirited and true. Thoughts on chair are here for you.
Sitting on my rocking chair, I write from the perspective of a wheelchair thanking God for open doors and cursing people for treating me like a dog on the floor Sometimes you need things,simple things, good, bad things will come
Built to perfection, designed for comfort Polished warm brown, with cushions floral.. Often, admired a while, by those on road I waited a keen eye, to take me home… And then came in, a dainty inquiring lady Ah, but look
My room was the old garage attached to the house festooned with posters and dirty underpants my father’s Mercedes was a sacred relic with a flavor of old leather upholstery. It rested in its own building. there must have been
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
Sitting in a cushioned chair in his living room, absurdly comfortable, while he reads Georg Trakl’s late poems, the old man, himself a poet, drifts into a shallow sleep. He is alone in that place of Being, where desire and
Project Happiness .. she informs me… The genuine smile, or laughter aloud, The Happy one, what paths are urged. Blissful moments, that made their way. Victory, Peace, Success, and Truth.. Others had picked the choices away. Though Happiness, now she
I’m sitting over here and you’re sitting over there, I always know my “allocated” chair, I have to admit I am sceptical though, I do my best to never let it show. I cringe when I remember the things I’ve
He was the first man your eyes opened to.. The shivering hand that touched your tiny nose.. The strong arm you cuddled on.. His love that kept brimming but never spilled.. Those eyes that made everything seem within reach.. That
Dragonfly on the rock. Daydreams in the sky. Men that matter on the deck. Women a far cry. Children fishing on the rocks, gathering crabs that claw. Picking nets of blue synthetic, meshed like entwined twine. Twirling networks on ship
Those days the sun flew over me like corn flour, freshly ground at the millrace. Even in winter it was yellow when I pressed it down with my thumb, like an unfastened button on my chest. I could hardly cut
By the mirror side she sat, On a small caned chair, Looking at the tall figure, Combing her long dark hair, Frown on the little face, To resolve her loneliness, A baffled look stared at her, A playmate she wanted
I see them each day on my way to global politics 201 years worn, moss filled with cracks along the armrests I can remember one day seeing, two lovers in those chairs surely their intent, to facilitate the couples conversation
Bones of driftwood wind ornaments clatter leak sand onto the porch, years removed from the sea sky darkening since noon, wind coming in a variable rush quelling the waves while gulls knife across the Sound there’s a greening smell from
Hi there,I’m your “Little Bit”of a muffin king.To keep my”Little Bit”of a fur coat clean, I tie a “Little Bit”of an apron around my waist. For my grandma I’m creating a surprise!Grandma loves bran muffins. Bran muffins are grandma’s favorite.”King
Conceived in love’s folded wings: I sit and watch him from the next table – fair-haired and impish, he swings his sturdy little legs. “Don’t fidget, darling! You’ll fall off your chair…” The words should have come from my mouth.
On the blue icicles you were colliding with orbiting electrons naked legs on the rocking chair were expecting the visual words to spook for clairvoyance with the sun decline beyond borders my eyes are damp, I know the bottom was
Outrageous outbursts of Victorian values imposed on the young cub. Irreverent ranting relates a sepia shaded childhood that didn’t exist. “The kids of today don’t know how it was. They don’t want to know!” He leans forward in his chair
I truly love Canada always my home though if I could this planet I’d roam India fascinates me chaos and all China’s a mystery that long friggin’ wall Cuba’s resilient they keep trudging on more than paid for their sin
Let’s paint these walls red, With the blood of our dead. Of the lost and wounded, the sad and depressed. Let’s paint that chair green, With the leaves of the trees. The trees cut down, every day, week, month, year.
Reporting my story to you Live on CNN the Cable Network News Interviews with Christiane Amanpour So ambitious she wants to write my memoir Like TmZ hasn’t already asked for more Even though I’m so unknown Boy from the projects
There’s a big room in the house- It has many doors. Colourful lights reach my eyes, From underneath those doors: Red, then green, …blah blah blah. An old snap on the southern wall- It doesn’t pull me anymore. There’s a
An old boar squirrel has made a home in the tall skinny house across the street. he must think himself lucky to have the space. I watch him build his treasury on the jade kitchen linoleum dark nuts arranged like
Walking on dead leaves covering the grass to and fro, to and fro in solitude, hiding behind the mask, pithy face, ideas rebounding, a loaded eloquence, opening a dialogue with self, quietly bleeding inside. You are hearing the sounds of