Cleanliness poems that are original and profound. Explore a brilliant collection of cleanliness poetry that you can’t stop reading. These poems on cleanliness are published by poets from all over the world and are sure to keep you High On Poems!
while your obsession with order was just on the border and your preemptive guard around things yet unmarred was something to, well, behold there was a side of you that was true and forgiving and somehow made room for the
We the people, we the youth, we the creatures, these all are universal truth. We the destroyers will remain mute as we will not get any ripe fruit. We the masters, we the blasters, we can stop many disasters. We
If we look outside God is hypothetical Will face just a mirage Search will be critical. None could find outside Search remained futile Because He is inside Peep in for a while. If unable to look in Look at the
Some say less is really more, or is it more is really less. I believe both to be true. The future screams towards us faster every day. The pace and complexity of life quickens. Technology more pervasive. The human psyche
What that I am left with, impaled in jaws of mantis, starting a tug of war, for the otherness in me, seeking a bloodbath between my poise and incestuous blue hole of black walls. I gave you my voice, my
I’ve always prided myself in being eloquent with the English language. Present perfect tense, Present Perfect Progressive I never did get around to understanding what the present tense was Or rather, being in the present. Most of the time I
All I could hear were the deafening roars of the crowd at the show stopping moment, when everything got silent. The smell of something burning reached my nose, but I decided to ignore it. “Fire!” a voice screeched. Get up!
When I, the passing night would now review, When you were in my arms, of love replete, And which by such, I could only construe, No other night transpired by half as sweet; The moon may have wasted its beams
I have dipped my fingers in the blood of the victim and asked for the version of the surgeon. The precocious death? Do I need another witness? Who was trapped under the fallen tree? Only the passer – by was
Rose for my love, the best that heaven owns, The fairest Earth could bloom beneath the skies, As tucked upon her hair instead of crowns, Bestows well what the lack of crowns denies; That wisp of cloudiness above her head,
In the embrace of our pink tongues Lie our unspoken words, Feel the warmth of our breath, Taste the thick saliva of our love, Oozing out from the buds. The pollen grains of our thick eye lashes meet And dreams
Clouds thundered, rained and gone We wept together for our very own They were lamenting- for loss of ours Of orphans, helpless and old home The way my old man served the world Healed and helped, all is shown Love
“What is truth? said jesting pilate, and would not stay for an answer.” Bacon, my greetings I report, of his greatness though, he couldn’t be the cleanser” Man never understands and accepts the sense revealed to him beforehand, Experience, they
An uneasy blood cascades in the slender arteries when you, that I wanted to touch disappear into twilight of memory. Always a sense of bereavement. why do I care for you? Time drops like an old coin in the hands
You make such lame excuses because you want what amuses hanging out with friends praising on what they find you promise to start life from a new page but like seasons it changes promises from your mouth continuously flow but
Dot maketh a man blind, beware of the outcome ’tis a drought, fandangle dingus maketh a relationship, acerbic as rum ’tis not an espousal, ’tis a fungus Humans , worshipers of everything Gods, demons or a fane find occurrences to
The more times passes The more things remain unchanged The worse the hurt festers More miserable the loneliness I stand alone A bare tree in a ravaged desert plain Fleeting images of rain raising hope But in the end only
Your cheeks, in red ochre rouged In dimples, the scarab dew slurps Eyes and teeth, a white flash sleight Stretch marks, varicose crossed, like The Anaconda’s swallowing strains. Your life restless, the nose suffocates Dawn disrupts as the feathers ruffled.
Inside my prose poem is happiness, happiness for all. Even the juicy parts don’t lack think material. I have it on good authority. My autistic Aunt says I should stop writing. Where are the beans? I was told in my
Conviction is an illusion to take your choice away Belief is the act of choice within the confines of an illusion In life there is also death to give balance to think you have a choice at all The choice
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 !
As she gazes from the eyes Of heaven’s Exquisite disbelief She recognizes her mother In nature’s beauty And she pauses to reflect On the tears she provides As rain, nurturing The lives of the All And finds such inexplicable Purity
Unveiled, the moon will find you after morose beginning of becoming – me Homophobia creeps in, beyond the condemnation, the incompleteness. You walk straight in the arms of contradiction, confusion smearing the wall with your crimson, nihilistic words. Every other
I think we should have loved some more, Enough to satisfy a lifetime, Once, when we were young. We should have kept those kisses, As souvenirs and parting promises, For the dark days to come. We should have wept some
Restless, I rummage, I ruminate, I rile T’is dark, the world slumbers yet here I lie Tossing, turning, the shrill clock tick-tocking Midnight amplifying a roar of whispers inside Silly, frilly girl, a voice cackles a criminal cry Breathes a
These days, as I wake up, an eagle sits on my window. ‘tell me, my eagle, tell me the tales of distant flowers, of dragons, of dangerous people, with beards, with spears. tell me of their loves and dreams and
There are lovely seasons beyond compare that each has its own beauty, spring offers a birth of life to so many flowers and trees. Summer is the warmest season of all, the sun is the strongest on the blue sky
will you look at what I made soft wood and sharp blade without plan or hint of a plan except those impermanent currents and etchings in my mind a fragrant wood and beautiful grain oil and even the noise the
Spring has come to embrace your cheeks Lovely breeze caresses your peaks Love itself comes and seeks Through out the days through out the weeks Permission to touch, submission to take The fragrance of your body to a lake For