Easter poems that are original and profound. Explore a brilliant collection of easter poetry that you can’t stop reading. These poems on easter are published by poets from all over the world and are sure to keep you High On Poems!
It had rained streets painted black tiny lakes of standing water dimpled by drops still falling from evergreens city air fresh as it gets sky turning a painterly shade of blue and foliage green bleeding into morning crossing the bridge
On an Easter Sunday reminiscing histories. Mulling over life’s mysteries recounting old losses reckoning unknown forces. A kindred soul adding warmth and glow. Dispelling the gloom of a sense of impending doom. Once again light and cheer fill the room.
It slips in at night. Stealthy and low at first. A few flakes pick up speed as the first low howl can be heard. Wind howls against the house, branches scratching at the window trying to get in. Heavy wet
while dew was still shining upon flowers mother went with her knapsack of seeds to the cemetery to plant petunias and daisies father climbed to the top of the cherry tree half-sleeping a baby spring wind opened a pathway in
I reminisce Easter at our home was as important as Christmas. Mom surrounded our small apartment with the song, “Here Comes Peter Cottontail” I waited on the Easter Bunny as much as I did Santa but I would wake up
Church bells ring The choir sings Songs of praise Ancient of days Stained glass colors Arched cross hovers His mighty power A strong high tower Wooden pews Lilly flowers Sunshine and April showers A merciful God The children applaud Before
1916. Rossetti and Taberlet. Those are the first two names we read on the memorial, The captured soldier breaking for freedom, stood silently upon the delicately quiet letters that form lost names. There for decades, in sleepy Morzine. The thick
Once on Easter, I wished lord Jesus: Oh Christ, I want a beautiful land and lots of goodness with glorious sand let the sand be of any brand but there should be no discrimination in your land for several lever
Led down from the tower Head high and hands bound Blindfold declined against the wall Black square pinned to his heart Eyes afire and shining proud He sang… He sang of Caruso, Townes Van Zandt Pavarotti, Bocelli, Mercury, Carreras, he
Does anyone else lie awake at night, Silently putting the world to rights, Wondering if they should get out of bed, Or keep on trying to sleep instead. It’s December and I seem to think it’s funny, To think about
Against a backdrop of broiling grey The dancing colours flap; wave away To all who can see and for all left to be A warning about the worsening sea A relentless outburst of desperate cries Fighting the force of the
Are angelic neurons fleshing inside a trans-Inquisition tavern? Another kind of speaking, pontificating globe? Can we feel the burning and sexing of the four seasons with the four elements, recycling earth, water, air, fire, to produce the quintessence of your
I’ve felt much worse, but when I realised how long I’ve been staring at this blank white page without having my fingers moving, tapping on alphabets like it does before when I want it to, I saw a man who
A smoking internet chat She finally signed something, “J” “oh J” I’ve been waiting for something to call you Lovely Oh J that captures the sense of anticipation I feel addressing you and I guess I don’t care right now
Yes…I know …I know my steps are to end. Darkness awaits ’round yonder bend. Wrinkled and worn have I become, scarred and tempered beneath loyal sun. Neither gospel nor gun, a lantern to be, for the cosmic thicket now welcoming
Sitting by the riverside, As I ponder upon, The best times spent, How I wish those moments, Those endless talks, With the most amazing folks, Could be relived once again, Just as the river flows by, And the bush aside
Sometimes we all get to feeling a little lonely and sad, sometimes the darkness can be so overwhelming there just doesn’t seem to be any light to be found but don’t lose hope God isn’t heartless and when you need
Inviting tongue licks lips Honey dew D R I P S from fingertips Eyes dimmed in passionate desire setting hearts and souls on fire Deep kisses feed loving lust Two bodies one at the final thrust Two hearts Two spirits
Water pouring inside the fence of beyond ten feet above the surf waves climbed higher as the tide was coming in at the usual hour Rocks mixed with shells colored brightly like a bright morning sunlight oranges, gray, blue and
There is a picture on the wall, With some people hanging around Each smiling and laughing Enjoying and having the time of their lives Each wearing their own costumes, Each with their own colours Red, Orange, Yellow, Green, Yellow, Green,
At the end of the elated visit Around the mind moving marble mausoleum -Taj Mahal I was unconvinced to leave and got a place to sit As excited to enjoy the environment, withal It was the inside on the right,
Something to believe is miles away Searching for reason,one reason,desperately, to give up; Hope I can pretend I am dreaming Tough whirling pain inside, want it to die; Days turned out cloudy and foggy Not a moment to live in..
Those who have books shine With lively bright colour twine. Books – a Daniel – be in shrine To take us all up with whine. Saraswati, indeed, did opine My talents with saccharine And help me for Her to reassign
Motionless within the ambit of moon, the rain squirms and flickers under the street light in the vacuous silence of a monolith. A cricket walks on a cloud and starts the lightning. The urn was blind, fills up with grief.
I was but a soldier in a trench in Northern France It sat upon a meadow where the lovely poppies danced. The skies above were cloudless clear a perfect colour blue And cornflowers on the meadow danced beside the poppies
While aversely obliging decadent demands of the reigning, endorsed affluent, an internal voice howls interposingly loud and insists I really shouldn’t: “pitiful, weary worker, Coerced, uncaringly ordered, and damned by upper class rules, will you ever tire of being a
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
Audacious says the eyes of blue green black and shiny leather from head to toe, you sexy thing, you sexy thing well and today a new love has found its way to my heart and nothing nothing’s gonna go wrong,
When words are read, my heart you will hear I’m far away, but you will feel me near Every single word, it’s meant ……………………………..for you To smile when the heart cries, To fall but then again to rise, The reason
‘Yes, I will sing of thee, So dear to me’s the theme, And distant years shall hear the lay By mountain, vale and stream..’ – Charles Spence, Perthshire, 1898 White Campion flower soaked fields in summer, They choreograph in the