Exile poems bring the best collection of short and long exile poetry. Poems for him and her and every poetry lover. These great exile rhymes are so amazing they will touch your heart and keep you craving for more. Hope you find your own deep meanings in these exile poems. They are decent, rhyming, free spirited and true. Thoughts on exile are here for you.
Those verities of secular graft consent to travel, to banish. Snow departs to light; to adorn with pristine bloom the trees rapt and oozing dramatic spoils for the provident birds, with yawning sloughs and water-snakes churning the dead in hotbeds,
Corsica, oh my Corsica, Corsica of a thousand charms. Corsica of whose fragrance I can distinguish from France. I delight in your coat of arms, with an image the replica of an emancipated man. You were my childhood paradise, in
Far away from mankind and society, far I wandered. Through bleak plains and screeching drums, Dragging along my body, weary from the residues of development, My eyes are sore from enduring all this mortal architecture that’s slowly diminishing in my rear
Piecemeal summer dies long winter spreads it’s blanket again. For ten years I have lived in exile, locked in this rickety cabin, shoulders jostled up against open Alberta sky. If I were young again, I’d sing of coolness of high
(Tribute to the Banished Silver Surfer – he is herald again) Please tell Galactus, I can’t do his will And shine like sap that drips from putrid pine, Stare into space from some ingested pill Or from a dose of
Faint is my expression, out of breath, chastised and drowned in whirl pools of confusion. Neither here nor am I there, in the clouds or the bottom of the ocean, whirl pools of confusion. A year be a day, an
Between want and desire few crumbs of words will not satisfy. Facts and perception build a latticed smile between tears. Discreetly life catches a miasm, a fault to commit suicide. When will the exile end, of hope, a holy womb?
And so ’tis done – drench is gone Salted spray no longer flies the wild air That grim Tempest, that did wax and surge deep, now makes only whispered remembrance of its fury and troubles not the delicate house of
One crisp scaffold. Was it possible that it became generous? For the street which turns the mutation into xenograft. I pretend to be which I am not for fear of dying daily or sleep no more in the lineage of
Thankfully I was never bullied at school but for this poem I tried to put myself in the shoes of someone who was. Bullying hurts and leaves a permanent scar! Laughed at, taunted, left all alone, You tell me to
Your gifts, I do not want to keep. Shapeless doves on the grass, were ready to take a nascent flight. My small hands prepare a daisy meal. Dahlias will bloom when the sun climbs. I pass the door, that moves
Released, freed weeded out off my inner confinements today.. Gone by wasted times dust pollen cleared away ! Heaviness of heart wryly sneered past feelings at bay.. My free spirit tickles senses..for now ..it is fully awake ! Mirror reflection,
There were subtle declines, still I opted for incompleteness. A fierce battle was raging. I think to start my descent in roofless castle of mania to watch the self-destruction of a landscape. Thousands were squatting on mud tracks. till the
Been trying to avoid the subject for days now But every time I open my mouth I say something I know what I did was callous and cruel Unkind, worse – disrespectful, But I Let me apologise please, no, not
I have Killed and pillaged Plundered and pilloried Raped and destroyed Beauty and innocence In its purest form Nature… Her plaintive cries When she trembled And quaked And melted, Her pleas Have I ignored And now I must pay. Through
The lines of time stretched pulled torn ripped apart. As the time passes, it is as the distance, grand yet minuscule, an odd yet frightful reminder. And as it grows, the pain loses precision, the sharpness fading, like morning fog.
Been born three months when Kennedy got shot Didn’t really recognize the significance From the comfort of my cot Didn’t know Vietnam was such a brouhaha Or that the world would not be at peace For at any one time
You know I do not hope any intermission, between life and death. My path goes nowhere. A hiatus between the mirrors has questions. From childhood I was always floating between the meanings of lessons unknown. I longed for straight humilities.
A stick of match is needed to lit the fire An iota of ego is required to build up the jealousy Fire spreads the light jealousy spreads the hatred Fire generates warmth jealousy generates breach of peace Fire needed to
Roses had gone wilting after surgery. Biovision of acrylic lenses was projecting a corrupt green mount. The rubber king had a papery laugh. How you deal with a maverick – matter – of – factly? Pall bearers of a tall
The Muse Who is the Muse that stalks my Mind? Who is the Muse this poem, propels? Or does the poem, Muse impel? Who is the Muse in Meditation For attention protests? Answers I seek from my gentle sage. “Your
unhinged i wake tying ribbon around the tree of amnesia, the butterfly startles, despairs the blue of humility, all i wanted was the silence of ceremony to greet the prosperity of death in valley of graves, the hungry hyenas appreciating
Don’t go to the forbidden hill! Once five men went to see. But three were killed by the fire From those flying chariots. And two were killed by them With fire-spitting weapons, To teach others a lesson. You know, the
Whisper not immortality to me.. For I have already won that game, These hollow golden crowns deceive me no more, my dear friend My road has been a masterpiece of chaos in every beautiful form, So abundant in robust convictions,
How happy are you in your new world? What did I do to not deserve a place there? How much love do you receive everyday? Ever wondered if I could have offered more? Crying your loss is easy, Crying without
There are no crows by that side of the road just dust and debris from the long-fallow field and that legless marionette hanging from a frame it never seems to age, its expression unchanging a glint of oversized eyes, vicious
Soldiers are soldiers today or long ago So many not given the choice, they had to go Stories told like it was yesterday You could see the pain in their eyes Til this day some still cry Battles fought in
Thought that love was Sunshine and laughter Songs, blood moons and abrading stones Half-whispered words In the dusk of the Jacaranda tree. Thought that love was A magic mushroom of tenderness The daydream of a touch and The aberrancy of
Beauty is what you realise in nature , Begins to love every creature. Grassy field that grows in meadow, Things that are tactlessly bestowed. Radiance of sun that lights your day, Go out and brighten your way. Blossom flowers that
Life without hope Is a plant without root Life without aim Is a letter without address Life without happiness Is a bird without wings Life without faith Is a sky without blue Life without satisfaction IS A GARDEN WITHOUT FLOWERS