Dummy poems that are original and profound. Explore a brilliant collection of dummy poetry that you can’t stop reading. These poems on dummy are published by poets from all over the world and are sure to keep you High On Poems!
You are a worthy brainy I am a worthless dummy You are blessed with happiness I am bestowed with sadness You shed tears of happiness I Cry tears of sadness You have risen to the skies to occupy top position
Getting into the room of a poet is like entering the cell of a prison unknowingly the prisoner… but you must keep quiet… because, such is the freedom of being kept behind bars, myriads of butterflies of freedom sleep there
Waiting at the station for the train, My little brother asked “WHO ARE THEY?” Oddly dressed, Men on saree’s, Masculine voice, clapping all their way? He looked perplexed.. A spark of astonishment on his face.. Observing them for a while,
She smiles in your face so pretty, But her intentions are dirty, Because behind your back it’s another story, And she talks out your business like it was history, So stop telling her things about you that are confidential, Because
Round and round the garden lost in despair Fur wet with tears is a suicidal teddy bear The children have grown up and there’s no one left to play Everyone has forgotten this was his birthday No more hugs and
Deluge of criminality in the moral night; sun was taking a plunge on the falls, in the name of cobbled up front, for our rise and fall in the primary casuality. Sacred contusion, on the floor of the mausoleum, when
In love I learned a thousand ways to comfort this world, smiled and hugged blew kisses so warm , built inn and held caravan so long , brew tea, wrote words alive played music as every fibre of my being
The sprawling mangrove forest shifted away from the giant concrete thoroughfare that has come to traverse through their murky habitation. Their host of wild mammals and their uncut barbaric lifestyle have retreated farther to their dense recluse of primitivity. New
Mountains from thirty-five thousand feet: Bike-wreck rucked skin below powdered sugar. No tread and no track in that authentic wilderness No pioneer souls in either ridgeline or crease And no you to arrive home to, the lush riffle Of short
Just an infinitesimal trace of light there Like a candle grown dim at the foot of the stair, Just the whisper soft motions of long, long ago That have dwindled away in the candles’ soft glow. Just the dawn calling
The cold wind blew, dry leaves fell rain poured in torrents, washed off the trace of the past. Lightening struck ablaze, darkness died.. A storm still broke out, the chains of bondage cracked…. Thunder struck aloud, leaving the past dead..
That Life is a gift hardly we realise It Life is undoubtedly a Beauty that we know but we see it as murky We rush to get appointment but end up with disappointment Outstanding was I in studies Missed being
Like everyone else, A poet has dreams Dreams to flow within the letters of the words That lead him closer to his destiny He is partial To imagine What the neural network Across the brain cannot Even if he was
Those ruins of tomorrow Could they make me hollow? On the wings of hope this day, Swinging from the blue skies… the flight of despair stuck in the cries. Teased by the winds, Pushed by the blinds, Waking up to
I’m scrunched in partially obscured view seating, hands at my temples, elbows pressed to the balcony rail. Look up, Sherman Alexie! I squint through borrowed glasses, willing your signature pen to drop, your writer’s eyes to find me. I’m cheap.
Teddy Bear’s Picnic From out of the mist high in the alpine, a massive mother black bear leading three magnificent cubs. Mother’s coat has a glistening golden hue, rippling as she ambles out across a variegated moss carpeted meadow.With three
Sixth sense, a magical phenomena, a super natural phenomena, a gift bestowed upon some people by the Supreme Lord. Each and everyone has got sixth sense; Only those who are spiritually connected to God, Experience the direct perception of truth.
We are making a living, Where humanity hardly exists; Where no love resides; Where compassion has died; Where beauty is deprived; Where only happiness is solipsism; And only sadness is breakup. In this living, The affluent is callous; The penurious
I picture you with clarity of vision, I picture you with faith and spirit; I picture you accomplishing the mission, I picture you with character and merit. I picture you with inner peace and stability, I picture you fighting for
The Joy of Bing Skits zoid When just a whippersnapper of a little boy Me late mum and octogenarian pop agreed For doctor removal of my adenoid Less to prevent their only son from being coy Than fear of said
Winter winter please go Need some warm sunshine Cold nose to cold feet.. A sneeze here a sneeze there God bless you they all would say Mufflers caps jackets will do the trick From the icy chilly winter prick.. My
A unique, irreverent intruder: in my dying dreams, of a domain beyond the gifts. The corridor was full of specters in boiling air. The DNA will not cover the naked strands of desires. Put out to sea, my boat in
They were counting the bullets and bodies. The severed limbs were twitching. Sometimes to go back to their owners, but the faceless torso selects a bush to hide the remains. The leaves are falling on the make shift home of
When all the sounds that fill the air die not, And for a little rest, my ears do crave, The joys of loneliness that I forgot, In silence lie, the hallmark of the grave; What little time for solitude is
There was a man, Old, cold, sold, To his condition. Stood outside the temple, Waiting, hating, hesitating. And people passed by, Dinging, dangling, giggling. Nobody could see him there, Lazy, hazy, crazy. Now he is there no more, Sink, blink,
Fear of becoming sane inherits the hate of earth. I wake up in the rains of time. Fire of soul extracts the thought shapes like stark naked truth in the desert of pain – unbirthing the child of wisdom. I
salted with landmines a cordite whiff scents the dry breeze clumps of bushes and rich brown soil dotted with dull white glints of fractured bone a place where animals used to browse this is the place to pray furthest away
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
It has been raining I stood on the window Looking at the rain drops Silently tip toeing at moments Restless pouring at times I looked at the clouds As if walking hand in hand Like lovers lost, like friends found