Ecstatic poems that are original and profound. Explore a brilliant collection of ecstatic poetry that you can’t stop reading. These poems on ecstatic are published by poets from all over the world and are sure to keep you High On Poems!
I wanted to write something But my brain refused to spare anything I got agitated and start searching some others’ brain for lending I did get a brain dead man who was sleeping but found him to be still breathing
Making promises is his habit Violating is his nature Traits make one like him Why then the feelings capture. Recoiling of impatient intestines Swings of heart, jumps of spirits Chest throbbing with impatience Is the specific poser that hurts? For
Two flailing oiled chotis slap me out of stupor. The Goddess arches out hinged at the pole, her saucer hands clasped below mine. A hooting call answered with crystal stare from wide apart eyes that grazes my shoulder, wounding me.
The boomerang bird is back with us again, the tireless sickle, slashing swathes of wind inflicting wounds with wicked scything wings, shrieking summer’s swift ecstatic pain. It flings itself at frightened insects, flies on whittled blades, deadly smooth and fast,
Two hearts met first time in the college To begin an unhackneyed relationship Together they had a cup of coffee Together they studied in library The friendship grew into love one day Together made many promises to keep And vowed
t Happiness descends on me Seeing floating clouds in the sky Flying birds fascinate me Seems with them as if I fly. Flapping wings of butterfly Are soporifically gratifying Seems with them As if I am merrily gliding. Bubble-bees humming
Sat outside beneath a starry sky, with a favourite glass of wine With the silver glow of moonlight, oblivious of time Your hand is held in mine, the special intimacy of touch Just sharing conversation, times like this I love
Vane glorious and absolutistic, though I defiantly, cavalierly, and blithely attest Yukon bet your (laugh-in) sweet bippy mine acidic breast houses anarchic, anti-poetic ballistic, barbaric, and bubonic cannibalistic demons within thy safely guarded Pandora chest atomic cesium clock timed to
The innocent and lovely creatures are crying, crying bitterly every moment, For their beauty is their curse; One can not listen to the cry, As it is disgracefully buried by the devils in the inaccessible depth of the secret world,
On this so cold night Laying alone I ponder How warm the bed would have felt With you having in here. Your legs wrapped around mine Spooning, curves settled so perfect That’s why it’s said “made magically for each other”.
True and sacred relations are made for each other Two hearts met first time in the college To begin an unhackneyed relationship Together they had cup of coffee Together they studied in library The friendship grew into love one day
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,
Breeze rippling sheer embroidered patches as sunlight streaming shadows prance across plastered walls… As precipitation mist cool Floridian rays beaming tin roofs. Winter temps once again; no show. pre-Black Power, post-slavery; steel railroad tracks line wooded villages alluring Negro Parramore
I had the time held by its wings. The moist, silken,grainy impressions, still linger on my finger tips. The moments slipped . Fluttered. Was it insanity that took over me? Or was it a shadow of all desires so stubbornly
That’s it! Now that’s the stuff! More drugs. Damn doctors, actually believe this is fair? With their fancy and witty mugs: With careless hugs, And their snobby shrugs. The older pretentious ones don’t even have hair, Just cheap and obvious
Do not be a stranger come on and write. Your poems like flowers in the garden of life. When you are gone there is no sunshine around. So please be here because you are a wonderful scribe. Your words are
In memory of my Grand Mom who died over 30 years ago. Seeing you lying there In your eternal sleep; Lots of water has flown through since I was a child five year old Playing around the home Not knowing
After bending the oracle, there was participation in voice of grievers. The child of sun was dead in arms of nature. It moves, when I thought it was stillborn, the history of mankind. In the saddest day today, I believe
Always and forever Not the beginning… but end with you, Not the nights… but days with you, The feelings given by you, I wish you knew it too… Single moment without you, Is like a life I don’t wanna live,
Kiev in the shadow of early spring Winds off the lake lands and Reinvented again… Something of a new dream, new And improved like magic with The waves of a hand just like Tribal spirits breathing the Breathe of new
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 forgotten memories Visited me yesterday Some left me afterwards while some were meant to stay I wanted to keep some moments close to my heart as they alone could give me strength to walk in the dark some memories
What did it mean to be human? What does it mean to be human? What will it mean to be human? Humanity has fought and clawed its way to the current. Wars and superstitions filled our hearts and minds. King
In three forms Two thirds; Still, Not to drink a drop, or two pots for bath. One-third in Coco cola bottle, One-third is in the Cleavage water, Then, we are throwing stones at the well, Waiting for the crow bath;
The whole truth was porus, a hard punch on my face. We stood on the edge of lies. Body twisted at several places, mutually hating, yet telling sweet nothings, bored umpteen times like eroded hisses. The shrieks belie the red
In mangled bodies and severed limbs, the blood gives up its claim. A twisted window blocks the landscape of silvered faces. Nobody talks with the moon. Night burns, the fat floats on the dead mouthings. Death has the foulest taste.