Deliciousness poems that are original and profound. Explore a brilliant collection of deliciousness poetry that you can’t stop reading. These poems on deliciousness are published by poets from all over the world and are sure to keep you High On Poems!
Take a bite out of life Go on, sense it coming towards you Sniff its tantalising possibilities Then snap off a crisp, clean chunk Bite down on its crunchy sweetness Chomp it into smaller and smaller pieces That swirl around
Sciences has opened our eyes on many fronts. We have learned much, but there is infinite knowledge to go. The Universe is larger than humans can possibly know. Our Universe as large as it is, is dwarfed in the Multiverse.
up and up until the rugged horizon smoothes to a line then a curve stars shine at midday bending on the uppermost leaf of this tallest tree a man might faint might frighten and fall dead before he met the
A Mother’s smile to her child is like a Boost that Nourishes the child with love warmth and affection Of threads of life weaves the human ties. A Teacher’s smile shapes his student’s unrefined wisdom As a carpenter reshapes a
Once upon a day I encountered a machine capable of the most exquisite, subtle and profound expression of feeling, While its cogs and wheels turned coldly and mutely, with no heart, thought or feeling of their own. A sign on
Infantile air so clear and White gathers the dust of time gliding over paddy, inspiration, fish hooks, and moons Painting lullabies for lovers; Time gets younger, memories merge from bays to dried eyes as Hearts get heavier, healers hail the
Reprise from the past, Bringing back missing notes, In my heart laden, Of quote and misquotes. Some are evident of me, Others remind me of a child, A mother’s favorite melody, On go.. or in a mood mild. A song
Hapless souls still living, Dumping all shortcomings on clumsy faith. Gathering ignorance quite strenuous, Marking uncertain gains on life’s expense Without precious self, follies unexpectedly streaming brains. Waste of dying sense builds toll monuments What we often call civilization in
Trees all around me. Trees moving with wind. Wind is making the trees bend. Trees bending, but not breaking with the wind. Trees are like my life. Moving with the wind. I’m bending with the wind, But I’m not breaking,
Mother this is a pardon letter, Since what we have done against you is bitter. Being masters, We have hurt pastures. We have filled the earth With dirt. We remembered technology But forgot zoology. We fought for a piece of
If Hope is the thing with feathers, perhaps Life is that stony thing, that stony Enigma. If someday, somehow, somewhere, I catch some glimpses of what makes a heart, a stone, and what makes a stone, watery before someone dies…
Love dances in the glitter of her smile, Reflections of the promise in her eyes, Unfolding slowly, wishful to beguile, To give away what silence oft denies; Yet, words despoil the essence of the act; Is not a sigh enough
Him: Goodbye, my dove Until tomorrow. I promise to make It a very special. Her: Standing at the window Soft breeze caressing my soft curls I see deep into the dark sky Finding some clues in those stars. What’s that
full moon, was taking a bath on hills. Trees were waiting for the curtains to rise. Scented stars would make giant scars on the clouds, I would make peace with the sky. Lids of human greed were laden, with golden
I know,I just know… ..If I abuse I will be gone gone gone gone. More than a junkie, you can’t see it. I crave worse than narcotics. (I would trade this for being an alcoholic) Tragic? yeah it is tragic.
My beloved you are so sweet Your beauty even Spring can’t beat Warm more than scorching sun heat Our hearts are blended to meet I have not seen beauty like you Very many come cross and through What to learn
What would happen on the day When death tinkers in your life This thought might recoil once It turns a ‘men’ into ‘corpse’ I soliloquy kith will pretending of regret by flowing false tears Several examine you by discussing your
Happy Mother’s day… Read it slowww-lyy, Here I am loneee-lyy, Writing a song for my mother Mom. Ho! Ho! Ho! Ho! Beautiful days, dull sunrays, The time is fleeting like tides and waves. Far from home, living alone, Writing a
Swimming often in the deep, My beath held with kicking feet, Exploring the endless ocean, I, Squint and close my eyes, Feeling the burn of oxygen absent, Take in the pain and dive, Deeper down with intent, The waves sway
When it comes to you landing gently in your soul, and plants its loving seed. How do you accept? With a heart full of gracious thanks that wipe away all those long, dark and lonely nights. Or treat it with
Time ticks away, Questions pour in Answers flow as crashing waves Against solid rocks The mute sky looks indifferent Is the era of clues over? Smilingly I pretend ease Watching, listening, chatting animatedly One eye on the clock Rhyming with
Arcturus touches me pinpricks of a blood orange juice I walk naked in the night serenaded by frogs daring bats to tear mosquitos from my hair warmth of August stars ripple with atmosphere all those photons painting me the perverts
Some day this curse will fade and break away, No more pain, no more tears, no more hiding from this place. Just putting first myself rather than the rest of you, Who have hurt me instead. Please let me go,
I watch your broken soul as this consumes your entire world Blaming yourself for a decision completely out of your control Trying to keep the peace, you break your own will to keep happiness in the world of the selfish?
Melancholy doesn’t leave it settles in paints the world grey and yes it’s a beautiful monochrome but sometimes even sight becomes lachrymose, then tone is known as just a piece of soul in a different pitch, life seems loud and
I know a face,a beautiful face Constantly explored by race Resides within me with Grace Beauty insider holds “HER” Space I know “She” is insider,”She” is Chic Neither by ornaments,nor by Gold “She” in natural looks is an aesthetic “Her”
A journey undertaken on destination suspect No direction to follow unsure what to expect Trudge seems endless unclear full of doubts Adding to quandaries of dreaded kind bouts All but me as company be done on one’s own None pointed
When there were no more Messiahs left to kill that day, the men of the town went home for another night of hoping, wailing, waiting and praying. The Night bore them a child. And Morning came knocking on their doors